Reversing the Ritual
by GratefulInsomniac
Summary: House finds Cuddy during her residency to discuss something they'd forgotten. Pre-Series AU.
1. Examination

_A/N-This fic takes place when Cuddy was a resident, basically, after graduation but before PPTH (I know several people have told me they don't like pre-series fics, sorry guys, but I want to write a short story for each season, and one pre-series to play with the characters a bit. So far I've done 3, 7 and 8.)_

_Since it's pre-series, I have nothing to base it on except my guess about who they'd be at that time. This one's just for fun. I was going to start my Season 5 fic and it feels too down for me right now (I agree with you TheHouseWitch !), so I'll wait a little and post that one when I'm more in the frame of mind for serious thought._

_A reader suggested to me that I switch between primary perspective or focus too much in my stories, and that I should try to follow one character only in each chapter or story, so I'll give it a try with this story, and split the chapters, concentrating on either him or her, and we'll see how it works out. (I've never tried it before)._

**_Disclaimer-I still own nothing, and I still write stories that include adult content. This applies to the whole story._**

* * *

-Examination-

Lisa Cuddy walked into the exam room, nodding vaguely at the waiting patient with her nose buried in the file as she kicked the door shut with her foot. She was covering a shift in the clinic for a friend so that she could have a three-day weekend. She hadn't even had two days off in a row in longer than she could remember, and it was time to act like she was still only twenty-six years old. Her friend Megan approached her two weeks earlier and pleaded, "You have forgotten how to have fun! I hate you, Dr. Cuddy. You killed Lisa."

Megan's words sat in Cuddy's head for a few days, and then she realized, it was true. Once her residency was over, she had tremendous goals set for herself, unrelenting expectations of excellence that wouldn't leave a lot of room for fun. This weekend would likely be the first time in a very long time that she could enjoy life and remember what it felt like to be the significantly more carefree Lisa Cuddy that Megan had once known in their undergrad days.

Cuddy had three more hours in her shift and she was focused and determined to get everything done that she could so she could actually leave. Then she would go back to her apartment, get a shower, grab her bag and be out the door.

"I have a…pain," the deep, gravelly voice came from the exam table.

"I'm Dr. Cuddy, I'm a resident here at the hospital, I'll be seeing you today," she nodded, still looking over the file. She blinked a few times as she read, her brow furrowed, and she pulled the file closer to make sure her eyes were correctly reading what was on the page. "You have a history of…umm…endometriosis? _Mister_ Smith."

She looked up from the file, expecting to see some other resident or a former-classmate, likely someone playing a prank, and there he was in front of her. Apparently actually becoming a doctor hadn't convinced him to do anything about his appearance, if anything he looked more haphazard, unkempt and frustratingly sexy than he ever did at Michigan. She tried to control her reaction, to look as if she didn't recognize him at all, but the truth was in her eyes. "Well, for pain this bad_, sir_, I'll have to schedule an internal exam with another doctor. I'll send him right in."

"Hi, Cuddy," he said, with a grin that exuded confidence, his eyes flowing over what he could see that wasn't obscured by an obviously oversized lab coat and loose fitting scrubs.

She sat on the wheeled stool, femininely sneakered feet propelling the stool slowly closer to the ornery patient, keeping a protective barrier of space between them while she still looked through the file with an expression of amusement at the bit of fiction she was reading. She was trying to buy herself time. "I know you?" she asked, trying to play it cool but smirking nonetheless.

"You definitely know me. And you know that you know me."

She shook her head, still unable to control the fact that she was nearly smiling, and her body was flirting in spite of every effort within her to stop that from happening. "Why are you here? Your file says you have issues with endometriosis and irregular periods. I'm only a resident, but I'm pretty certain if you are having those symptoms, your condition is a lot worse than you think."

"My periods are highly irregular, my cycle is over thirty years long and counting. In your professional opinion, is that a long time?"

She crossed her legs at her ankles, put the file on the exam table next to him and folded her hands in her lap. There was no point in pretending she didn't know him, because if she did, he'd relentlessly try to prove that she had known him all along, and she just wanted to get him out of her exam room and finish up her day. "Dr. House, why are you here?"

"For the reasons I've already mentioned, and the stress of it has my blood pressure going through the roof!" he exclaimed with exaggerated, obviously artificial concern as he held out his hand to demonstrate the fact that he was shaking with anxiety.

"Is it?" she nodded skeptically.

"Yes," he sat, staring at her expectantly. "Aren't you going to check it?"

"Didn't the nurse check it?" she asked, picking up the file to look through the notes.

"I told her I only trust _doctors_ with the more complicated procedures. You know it would look really bad if you just assume I'm jerking you around and I leave here and have a cardiac event in your waiting room on my way out the door. Probably wouldn't look good on your pristine record."

She rolled her eyes, then reached over to grab the stand that the blood pressure cuff was hanging on. She stood, approached him, not wanting to appear at all uneasy or uncertain around him, wanting to make it clear that his proximity didn't impact her in the least. She knew if she hesitated, he'd somehow consider her avoidance proof of something. She watched him toy with other people and she heard story after story about him, she knew what to expect.

"Take your arm out," she said dutifully, tapping his left arm with the backs of her fingers.

He removed his arm from his sleeve and looked at her with what she thought was his attempt to look innocent. Winding the cuff around his arm and fastening the Velcro, she began inflating the cuff. When she was done, she roughly jerked the cuff open.

"Gentle. I thought I remembered you having a better bedside manner," he complained.

"BP's fine," she answered with certainty.

"Heart's been doing weird things lately," he said with concern.

"Beating?"

He grinned, obviously loving her quick comeback. She found his pulse on his wrist, concentrating on the familiarity of medicine and pulling her stethoscope from her oversized lab coat pocket. Her hand slipped under his shirt, the cold end of the stethoscope finding his skin. "You know, doctor to doctor, you should warm that up," he said, his eyes all over her face and neck while she stood so close. Her hip actually grazed the side of his leg and they both felt the zip of attraction. Some things never changed.

"Hospital policy clearly states we can't warm things. Wait 'til they do your pelvic for the endometriosis that you _clearly_ have," she countered, expressionless.

She could see his eyes moving all over her, sense the admiration he still seemed to have, feel the warmth of his chest under her hand. "Your heart sounds fine," she said, draping the stethoscope over the stand and sitting back down on the stool. "What are you really doing here?"

"I thought you might want to see me again," he answered confidently.

"Did you?" she scoffed. "What would give you that impression?"

"I don't know, you had a pretty good time the last time we _hung out_ so I thought maybe you'd like to catch up."

"That's funny, I was relatively certain _you_ had a good time. But that…pathetically affectionate and sentimental _act_ you put on the morning after, didn't include the follow up phone call that you practically begged me to believe in."

"I meant to call you," he said with complete sincerity, temporarily dropping the bravado.

"Don't," she laughed, self-assuredly, "it saved me from having to let you down easy."

"I'm here to make it up to you," he announced, ignoring the implications of her previous statement, the fullness of his bravado once again on display.

She stood up, getting ready to leave, trying to make it perfectly clear that he meant little or nothing to her. "Make it up to me? Dr. House, we had a one night stand that I fully acknowledged was _going_ to be a hookup before it even began. I was OK with that or I wouldn't have gone home with you. The sex was fine, maybe even good. But you weren't my first. And you definitely weren't my last. Thanks for the fun, a few _years_ ago. I'm not some pathetic coed sitting around hoping some man will come and rescue me from loneliness. Even if I did briefly_, which I didn't_, I certainly haven't wasted years thinking about you. Honestly, I'm surprised I even remember you. It was no big deal."

"Did you say the sex was _good_? I seem to remember an awful lot of superlatives coming out of your mouth that night. Let me see if I can recall a few…"

"No need. I'm sure your memory comes with certain…embellishments."

"The sex wasn't _good_, it was life-alteringly amazing. For you," he said as he slid down off of the table and pushed his arm back through his shirt sleeve.

"Confident?"

He was standing over her and she blinked, just a bit startled by his proximity as she looked up at him.

"_You_ were the one begging me to never stop," he pointed with certainty, confrontation and flirtation.

He was standing so close that she could feel the pillow of warm air around him melding into the pillow of warm air around her.

"Interesting that you remember that. You were the one begging _me _for another taste," she said, confidently, right up in his face, remembering the words he whispered when he tried to convince her not to leave the next morning.

His eyes glazed over, he looked at her lips, she started to wonder if the over-confident jackass was going to actually kiss her in the exam room. He leaned a little closer, and whispered, "Of course I begged. You…were the best thing I've ever tasted."

For a few seconds, he won. Her mouth dropped open just the slightest, as she let out the tiniest gasp, more of an audible inward breath, the fire gone from her eyes and replaced with confusion and uncertainty. She had no idea what to do next, she didn't expect him to admit anything like that. He smirked when her eyes dropped to his lips, and she was rendered temporarily speechless. He had the confirmation he wanted. He _did _get to her. The cockiness in his grin filled her with irritation.

"You aren't making me feel uncomfortable," she responded.

"Good. That's not what I'm trying to do," he said as he seemed to breathe himself closer to her.

"I'm at work," she said, coming to her senses, regaining her poise and clearing her throat. "Is there really anything wrong with you, or are you just here to try to screw with me. Are you hoping I'll rip my panties off, and whip out your dick right here in the exam room before our next eight year hiatus?"

"Not sure I'm ready to settle for a quickie in an exam room."

"I'm not that desperate. I'm not actually desperate at all. Contrary to what you _may_ have left our one night believing, I'm not at all short on self-respect."

"I'm sure you aren't. I respect you."

"Do you?"

"Absolutely. Contrary to what _you _may have left our one night believing, I probably respected you more after the sex," he stated with a salacious leer.

"Respecting someone and lusting after them are two very different concepts."

"I know the difference between those two things. I also know it's possible to both respect and lust after the same person. And I have never," he looked over her form with great admiration, taking his time without any concern for the fact that she was waiting for him to finish the statement, "ever…seen you as desperate. And I don't want you to rip your panties off for me."

"Good, because that is not going to-"

She stopped when he put one finger up, very nearly touching her lips. "I don't want you to rip them off because I want to take them off for you. I want to drag them slowly down your legs, sneaking a peek at everything you have _barely_ hidden under them. And to top it off, I don't want to take them off for you because _I_ want to…I want to take them off because you _ask me_ to take them off."

She stood there, stunned. She had absolutely no idea what to do with this man. What she knew was that she didn't like was the way he could throw her so easily off balance, the way that he affected her after she hadn't seen him in years.

"As for whipping out my dick," he said flippantly, "You never know until you try, but given what I remember about your talents I won't press charges."

She laughed, both out of surprise and amusement, "I will not be asking you to take off anything that I wear. And I'm definitely not going to whip out your dick."

"This is suddenly sounding less fun than what I was hoping for."

"I'm at work," she said again, her voice steady and certain.

"You already said that."

"Why are you here?" she asked, more curiously, her eyes looking over his face in search of clues she wouldn't find.

"Is this conversation getting repetitious or is that just the endometriosis talking?"

"You need to go back to med school."

"I meant to call you."

"You already said _that_," she countered.

"If you keep asking the same questions, you'll get the same answers."

"You came from god knows where to apologize for something that happens a thousand times a weekend at universities and bars all over the world? Something that I told you from the start would happen. Your not calling me lived up perfectly to my expectations. We both knew exactly what we were doing."

"What happened wasn't the same as what happens all of the time. It was different. I really was planning on calling."

She rolled her eyes, "You don't have to say that for me. I wasn't as naïve as you seem to think."

"There was nothing about that night that led me to believe that you were naïve. And I know I don't need to say it for _you_. I need to say it because it's the truth. I got bad news that morning. Something that I thought you'd never be able to look past. So, I didn't force you to make that choice."

"Try again. I don't like being lied to."

"I was expelled from school. Wouldn't be able to go back. At that point, I thought I'd never become a doctor. You're not the kind of person that looks on failure too lightly."

"You didn't call me because…you had academic issues."

"That's a positive spin on it. So, in a manner of speaking, yes."

She stepped back, one hand on her cheek, the heel near the edge of her mouth as she thought, "I don't know what to say."

It was the truth. She had no idea what to say. She had long ago accepted the outcome of their night as a learning experience. She tried not to dwell on it. She felt in some ways it made her stronger, less easily swayed into romantic fantasies, more of a realist. She was disappointed, but certainly not heartbroken. She wanted him when she met him, lusted after him, crushed on him, but she didn't know him well enough to be in love. "I…don't know if I believe you. I also have no idea why it's relevant now after all of this time," she added, regaining her composed professionalism.

She was walking in front of him, thinking, not quite pacing, but only because she was making a conscious effort not to do so. He wrapped his fingers around her free forearm gently, and swung her toward him. "I went on two dates with this woman," he said calmly. "It wasn't serious. Not yet. Something happened last week after my second date with the aforementioned woman that made me think of you. And then I wondered what you were doing. Actually…I obsessed on what you were doing. I want a date."

"You, dating another woman, makes you want a date with me? I'm sure she'd be thrilled to hear that."

"She's not what I want. There was no third date scheduled."

She held her hands out in front of her, emphasizing the seriousness of what she was about to say. "Dr. House, we started something eight _years_ ago! Pretty sure we're well beyond the statute of limitations on that."

"Whatever," he said, disinterested in that fact. "It was still started and it wasn't finished. I have this…weird feeling like it will always feel unfinished because I'm not the type to sit and think about things that are unimportant."

"I'm smarter than you give me credit for. I can translate from horny-male-speak to English. You want a chance to have sex with me again. Someone that you know is amazing…someone who won't go all doe-eyed and fall in love or create complications. So you want a night to get out there, be free and single, one more time before you get all serious with this girl who is a good choice for a long term girlfriend or maybe even a wife. Is that it?"

"I'm not the only one who's confident."

"I have every reason to be. You're the one who came to find me after all this time…proof that my confidence is well placed."

"You _were_ the best lay of my life. And I was your best."

"Was. I haven't been entirely celibate since the last time we met."

"I think I still am your best. If not, I deserve the chance to prove that I am, or more likely, remind you of why I was in the first place."

"See, you get a lot further with me with a little truth. And the truth is that you want one last night of freedom. One more one night stand."

"This isn't one more night before I settle down. I want a chance to go out with you. We skipped that part. We went straight from flirting to fucking…like it was unstoppable."

A loud knock pounded at the door and they both startled a bit. "Yea," she said.

"Li…Dr. Cuddy," a male voice called through the door, "Phillips is looking for you."

"I'll be done here in a minute," Cuddy answered, staring at the door until she was certain the knocker was gone.

"I guess I have to hurry then," House said. "Do you want to go out? Something…date-like?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Can we just do this gracefully? Accept that we had a lot of fun. Both of us. I admit, it was…memorable…let's move on with our lives."

"I don't know if I can. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No," she answered immediately.

"That was a quick answer. Too quick?"

"Because I anticipated the question"

"That's the only reason?"

"I'm single, but it's because I want to be. I'm busy. I have goals. The time for flings and parties is over."

"Then why the three-day weekend? You have no boyfriend so it isn't a romantic getaway, you don't have tests to study for anymore…"

"How do you know I have off this weekend?" she asked when she realized she had not given him that piece of information.

"Schedule"

"How did you find our schedule?"

"I'm resourceful."

"What do you want?"

"I thought you said you could translate from horny-male-speak to English. This one's not difficult. I. Want. A date. A chance. We skipped that part last time. So it's almost like you owe me."

"I owe you?" she scoffed with utter disbelief.

"I feel used," he said with a forced cry of feigned hurt. "Cheap, taken advantage of, objectified."

"Is _that_ how you feel?" she said dryly as she smirked.

"Yes. But those aren't always bad feelings."

She laughed again, unable to stop herself because the arrogant bastard was charming, shaking her head.

"Tonight. I want to go out," he insisted.

"What about what I want?" she asked.

"You want to go out too."

"I have plans."

He closed his eyes, and breathed in, as if he was mustering up the strength to do or say something, "_Please_. You'll have the rest of the weekend to do whatever you were going to do. Or I could just follow you around and join you. You could introduce me to your friends…"

She hated how her old crush still sat right underneath the surface of her skin. "You really just want to go out with me?"

"You feel really lucky, don't you?"

She laughed. "My god, is it possible that you are more arrogant than before? Look," she offered, "If you're just looking for a good night, I'd rather you just say so. Like I said, you'll get further with me with honesty."

"If I was just looking for a repeat of our last time, I'd tell you that," he said with almost intimidating sincerity, "Something tells me that if I said I wanted a night of meaningless sex it would be easier to convince you to go out with me. It's less complicated."

Not one for being intimidated easily she was still right there, right in his face and said, "OK. Fine. Let's go out." She grabbed the file, ripped a piece of paper from a tablet beneath it and quickly wrote an address. "Pick me up here. Eight o'clock."

"Is this where you live?"

"Not a chance. It's where I want you to pick me up."

"When does your shift end?"

"Technically three. But you know how residency goes, if I'm lucky, I'll be leaving by five."

"You need three hours after the latest time you may possibly get done to show up at this address to meet me?" he asked in a pleased way.

"I have to go home, shower, and go there to meet you," she said, irritated at the questions.

"You're going to shower? That's never a bad sign," he commented.

"Do you have any idea what sort of things doctors see at these clinics? The sheer variety of viruses and bacteria that come in on almost every one of the patients we see?"

"What was your specialty? I thought you were considering endocrinology."

"I was. I did"

"You're doing your residency in the clinic?"

"That…will give us something to talk about later." She put on her most controlled and relaxed face, an indifferent one, she had the upper hand. "That location. Eight o'clock."

He stepped closer, way too far in her personal space, far too intimate. Something about the way he took a breath, his chest rising in front of her eyes, his exhalation against her neck because he was whispering something so closely that he was almost touching her ear, and suddenly she flashed to exactly what everything about his body felt like. The way it seemed that every last bit of him was somehow coordinating efforts to make her feel the most amazing things. "You won't be disappointed," he replied.

He went to the door, swooping away, unaffected and waving a goodbye. "Can I have your number? In case I get held up."

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "I gave you my number once, you have to earn the right to get it again."

He walked over to the end of the exam table, yanking a pen out of the pocket of her lab coat without apology on his way. He wrote in large numbers and words across the end of the protective paper cover. It said, simply, "Greg House," and the number.

He ripped it off unceremoniously and began to fold it. Even once folded in half, it was an enormous piece of paper. "In case you get held up, or decide you want me to pick you up at your place. I'm Greg House, like you could forget, and this," he tapped the paper, "is the number for my pager."

He held out a hand, shoving the number toward her, offering one final approving look and walking out the door.

She stood in the exam room after he left, feeling as if she had been standing out in the middle of a field far from civilization, spent twenty minutes avoiding a tornado that she, for some reason, wanted to be carried off by, and once the storm was over, she was left in the middle of the same field, dazed, dizzy and baffled. She folded the paper with his pager number. It crinkled noisily as she tried to reduce it to a more manageable size. It was loud and large, and she had no idea what to do with it, a strangely appropriate metaphor for their re-meeting. She ran the paper to her locker and went to finish her shift.

* * *

The truth was, she gave him another location in case she wanted to back out. Back in med school he was known for his clever trickery, and she hadn't forgotten that, in fact, she was looking for it. She was cautious. It seemed like a terrible idea, and, after he practically pleaded for her number that morning all those years ago, and promised he'd call, ultimately he left her waiting by the phone. No, she wasn't heartbroken, but she was hurt. She couldn't admit it to him, or deny it to herself.

There was the temptation to leave him there at the rendezvous point without another word from her. That temptation, as beautiful a piece of vengeance as she'd ever heard of, seemed counterproductive though. She was still horribly attracted to him, and his over the top antics and confidence only seemed to make him sexier, a fact that frustrated her beyond comprehension. She was a bit uncertain as to his actual motivations, he seemed intent on convincing her that it wasn't a hookup, and she didn't really understand why.

She changed quickly in the locker room, and thought about showing up late, making him wait a few minutes, a tiny piece of revenge for the past. Then she wondered how long he'd actually wait. She was debating the options, wondering what to do next. She got dressed in the jogging pants and oversized tee shirt she wore in to work, grabbed her heavy, winter coat, and left for home. She decided, she'd go, after all, it was just one night.

Cuddy lived in an apartment above an old, converted carriage house. When the city limits grew ages ago, places like the one she lived in that used to be in rural areas around the city were swallowed up, and when Cuddy saw the place it seemed like a place where she could relax and feel miles away from work while still within walking distance. There were old, looming trees all around the property. The ground beneath her answered each step with the crisp snapping of fallen leaves. It had been an oddly temperate fall, but it seemed winter was taking hold. She pulled her thick coat more tightly around her as she turned the corner to begin her ascent up the narrow wooden steps to her front door.

She tried not to gasp or show surprise when she saw him sitting on the small landing at the top of the steps. She had a small iron table and one chair sitting on the modest excuse for a porch, placed there with dreams of drinking morning coffee in that spot, but she found that she had little time to enjoy her apartment.

"Nice place," he said as she came closer.

"Should I be concerned with the slightly stalkerish behavior you're demonstrating?" she asked. "Did it occur to you that perhaps I didn't want you to know where I live?"

He was sitting on the landing, one leg stretched out, and she paused on the step just below his leg, her hand braced on the railing.

"More flattering that stalkerish," he responded.

"Why are you here? I'm supposed to meet you in town in two and a half hours."

"I lost the paper with the address."

"Then I guess you didn't really want to see me."

"Oh, I want to see you. If you just would have given me the number, I could have called."

She nodded her head, accepting this piece of insanity in her life and accepting that she should have known he couldn't just embrace the boundaries she put forth, in fact, he was trying to show her why those boundaries actually made things worse.

"Well, you taught me a lesson," she answered dryly.

"I wasn't trying to teach you a lesson. Actually, I wanted to observe you in your natural habitat."

"Or impinge on my privacy."

"I didn't go in."

"Such restraint," she said as she moved past him.

"Or…I was worried that you'd stand me up…try to get a little revenge for my disappearance."

"I'd only feel the need for revenge if I was actually somehow harmed by your disappearance. I told you, you did me a favor, I was worried about letting you down easy."

"Lies"

"I'll be out in about two hours…to walk to the place where we are going to meet. You can sit out here and wait if you want, or go do something fun and meet me there."

She walked inside and clicked the door shut. Although she tried to sound irritated, when she closed the door she couldn't help but smirk. Lots of guys liked her, but no one had ever put so much effort into getting one date.

Walking into her nightstand, she picked up the phone and called Megan to tell her she wouldn't arrive until the next day. Megan complained until Cuddy explained that she had a date, and swore to her friend that she would not set foot inside of any sort of medical building, but that she was actually going out with a guy.

She got her shower, took her time, she was convinced that he would break into her home, and she'd find him somewhere inside, so far he'd consistently tried to cross boundaries, so she wanted to be prepared. She dressed completely before she left the bathroom, but he wasn't in her apartment. She looked around, scanning the open, studio-style apartment and feeling something that almost seemed like disappointment. He wasn't sitting on the landing outside of her door either. She stopped at the fridge to grab a drink, looked out the window over the sink, and she noticed him, he certainly didn't go far. She could barely see him, the only illumination was from the porch light left on by the tenants downstairs, but he was standing on a swing hanging from a mammoth oak that was hung by her neighbors for their daughter. He pinched the rope in the crooks of his arms so he wouldn't fall and rubbed his hands together to warm them, and from his body language, he looked uncomfortably cold. She couldn't believe he was still there, in the dark.

Then she felt guilty. She was really confident in her abilities and that she was attractive, but she found it hard to believe that he would wait outside in the cold for a night of sex, no matter how good it was, so he must have had other intentions. Suddenly his efforts seemed more meaningful, and she really hated the growing swell of guilt in her chest. She scooted up on the sink, opened the window and shouted down, "Dr. House?"

He looked around, acting like he couldn't tell where the sound was coming from. He finally looked up at her and smirked.

"You're going to have to stop with the whole 'Doctor House' thing. This is a date, not a consult," he yelled up to her.

"What are you doing?"

"Something fun until you're ready"

"Come on up, you jackass."

He grinned and in moments, she found him peering inside, trying to see through the thin curtain that covered the squares of glass that formed the window on the upper half of the door. She opened the door and held up a finger. "This doesn't mean anything. I just feel bad that you're out there in the cold."

"So you're trying to tell me that you feel something for me?" he teased.

She lifted her hands with exasperation, and then dropped them at her sides.

"I'm kidding," he nodded and waited for an invitation inside.

She stepped to the side, directed him to an old sofa, turned a small portable heater toward him and turned it on high. "You want a drink?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not if it's going to cause you such pain," he huffed.

"It doesn't," she said apologetically. "I'm just…a little guarded."

"You don't trust me?"

"Not really," she answered. "What do you want to drink?"

"What do you have?"

"I have water. Hot tea. Leftover coffee from this morning that I can heat up. Or I can make a fresh pot."

"No, I said I'm going to take you out. You already don't trust me so I think I should stick to our agreement."

"Noted. We can go out after you thaw."

"Do you have anything more warming?"

"Oh. I have a few bottles of wine and some rum, but not much to mix it with."

"Seriously? You always seemed to enjoy a good drink…or ten. I was convinced you'd hit a button and a fully stocked bar was going to rise out of the floor."

She smirked, "I have one, but I lost the remote."

His eyes glazed over fondly, but he didn't smile or smirk, he just seemed to admire her.

"What do you want?" she asked, more abruptly than she intended.

His momentary trance broke and she could see he was searching for words.

"To drink?" she clarified.

"Oh," he nodded.

"I'll open a bottle of wine," she offered as she slipped from the room.

"OK," he answered in the direction of the kitchen. When she returned, he was looking at his watch and said, "I only have an hour before I have to go."

Her face twisted as she started to await the reason why he wriggled his way into her home only to leave so quickly.

"You have to go too, Cuddy," he added. "You're meeting up with a really hot doctor in an hour…"

She smirked and nodded. She was wondering if she was being too guarded, or if she wasn't being nearly guarded enough, and found her head filled with more and more questions rather than answers.

"It's nice of you to hang out with an old friend before you go," he mused after quickly finishing his glass.

She nodded and poured him a second glass, "Sure thing. Always good to catch up…since I barely even knew you."

"Well, girl," he said enthusiastically, "Why don't you tell your buddy Greg all about your date with the sexy doctor tonight."

"You should probably know that I don't put men with multiple personalities at the top of my list of 'must-dates.'"

"Can I see this list?"

She smiled and shook her head, "Nope"

"You were in the shower a long time," he noted, "does that mean you're anticipating extra curriculars after your date?"

She laughed at his audacity and shook her head, "Who do you think you are? I mean really? I tell you I want to know why you are here. You seem to go out of your way to make me think it's for a date and not just sex…and then you say stuff like that. So what is it? Is this a date or a booty call?"

"What would you say if I said it was a booty call?"

"I'd tell you to call a less complicated booty."

His shoulders shook a little, like he was laughing, and he said, "Good thing then…that it will be a date."

"Why say that then? Why try to make it sound like you're just trying to get laid?"

He leaned forward on the sofa, bracing his forearms on his knees. "It's better than normal lame stuff like 'you look beautiful tonight' or 'you're even better than I remembered."

Her head tilted at the soft way he spoke, at the admission that sounded exactly like what she'd hoped he would say. And then he huffed loudly, "But what woman respects a guy that says crap like that?"

Her eyebrows raised in surprise and she nodded her head as she spoke and walked over to sit on the sofa with him, offering a delicate smile, "I think a lot of women would probably respect a guy who says stuff like that."

"You have an amazing smile," he offered quietly and then paused, "is that something else that women like that would like to hear?"

"I would think so," she nodded, her lips pressed tightly together, feeling as if she was so close to a genuine compliment that he just couldn't let stand. She leaned forward, hands against her knees just like him, and then she said, "Can I ask you something?"

She expected a quick answer, but he actually gave the question thought, "Sure."

"If I'm going to ask, I want the truth."

He pressed his fingers together as he still leaned forward and again gave the matter careful thought. "I'll try," he finally answered.

"You are so confusing. You are the most serious chronically flippant person I've ever met."

"That's your question?"

"An observation related to the question."

"So what's the question?"

"Are you completely self-assured but pretending to be uncertain, or completely uncertain but pretending to be self-assured?"

"Both," he answered immediately and then stood up abruptly, "Come on, why wait, let's get this show on the road."


	2. The Option

_A/N- Thanks so much to all of the reviewers, I'm really excited that people want to see some more to this story: Truth, IHeartHouseCuddy, ikissedtheLaurie, JLCH, jaybe61, lenasti16, TheHouseWitch, Guest, newdayz, Rebecca, Iane Casey, Byte size, givemekevinbacon, Suzieqlondon, IWuvHouse, grouchysnarky, dmarchl21, Reader, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, Jane Q. Doe, newsession, LiaHuddy and Paola. _

_You can see this written closer to my normal style with some attention played to perspective. I'm more comfortable in my normal voice._

_Back to the story. Just for reference, outside of the implied early hookup and character history, I'm not really working into the cannon story. This will be multi-chapter, probably 4-6._

* * *

-The Option-

House's decision to go find the woman who had captured his attention so long ago was a bit impulsive.

He had been seeing a new woman, Lara. She was beautiful, she was intelligent, and she definitely liked him. As they sat over dinner in a fine restaurant that she had selected, eating food that was almost too delicious to ever stop eating, he began to wonder what in the hell he was doing there. He looked down at his watch and realized that this woman had been talking about furniture patterns for nearly twenty minutes. When she was mercifully done discussing the furniture, she moved on to a menu for a dinner party that she was hosting in two weeks, which eventually segued into an invitation for him to join her. He made a face and sort of tilted his head, an uncertain gesture in response to her question that for some reason, she took as a resounding yes. As she continued to talk, he began to wonder if that was what all relationships were going to be like, hours of tedious conversation and a life filled with furniture patterns and snotty menus for boring parties. At the point when he thought he could take no more, the check came.

He took Lara back to his place, she sat on the sofa while he listened to his answering machine in his bedroom. The message that he heard seemed like an omen. He guessed he should have felt sad or disappointed or at least worried, but he didn't. Whether he wanted to or not, it was time for a change in his life. He walked into his living room where the woman was waiting. She stood up, walked around the side of the sofa toward him. She was definitely one of the hotter women that he had dated, yet all he could hear was her voice, asking him to help her pick out curtains for a dinner party that she'd eventually nag him into attending. "Thanks for dinner," he said as he began walking toward the door.

"Greg, I was planning on staying tonight."

"Can't. I have…a pain."

"You're sick?"

"No. I just have something I have to figure out."

"OK. Want to get together tomorrow, you can help me finalize that menu for my party. We can go sample dishes?"

"No. I don't want to help you finalize the menu. Or go to the party. Or…go out again."

"I thought things were going well?" she asked, startled.

"Probably a good indicator that you and I weren't really gonna work out."

"You're an asshole. You decide after two dates that I'm not…what? Exciting enough?"

House tilted his head and replied, "If I was an asshole I would have slept with you, and then told you I didn't want to go out anymore. _Then_ I'd be an asshole."

"No, you're still an asshole."

"OK," House shrugged and held the door open while she left.

He had a mystery to solve and little else mattered once he needed answers to a question. The message on his answering machine and the series of thoughts that followed as a result precipitated the question: What ever happened to Lisa Cuddy?

Without missing a beat, he went to his phone and began making calls. Given the late hour, he had to wait until morning for some of the calls to be answered, eventually talking to a records clerk, a former mentor and a few people at a hospital to get the information he needed.

He wasn't quite sure how he was going to convince her to go out with him, but he suddenly felt he desperately needed the date they'd never had. When she finally agreed to go out with him after he ambushed her in the clinic, he didn't even know where he was taking her. He had a few short hours to find something that would leave a lasting impression.

It seemed the next thing he knew, he was sitting in her apartment, and she was getting her coat from its spot by the door. She had on jeans that followed her curves but weren't stuck to her skin, and a form-fitting, black, vee-neck sweater, and he couldn't think of an outfit that would look more perfect. He was watching the way she moved to the door, the way her body carried out a mundane activity, and he woke to the moment when she said, looking down at herself, "What? No good?"

"What's no good?"

"I didn't know what we were doing…I thought jeans were safe."

"Oh," he nodded. "It's fine."

"Alright," she hesitated. "So where are we going?"

He pulled on his heavy wool coat and followed her to the door. "You like music?" he asked.

"Yea, sure," she nodded.

"Afraid of heights?"

"How are those two things…possibly related?"

"I'll show you but we have to hurry, or we'll miss it."

They walked onto a nearby college campus, swiftly navigating between buildings and past ages old trees to a large, brick building. They went around to the side, and House tapped softly on the heavy, steel door.

A few seconds later, a man, probably a college student, appeared at the door and handed House two, black, rumbled jumpsuits like the ones several people backstage were wearing. The student mumbled directions, pointed and then left them there.

House whispered, "You have to put this on."

He quickly slid into his jumpsuit and zipped it up, and then knelt in front of her and tapped her calf to get her to lift up. She looked down at him, at the sight of him on his knees in front of her, with a look that made him wonder why they were in an auditorium instead of her bed. She stepped out of her shoes and placed one hand on his shoulder to keep balance while she stepped through the leg holes. He stood and dragged the jumpsuit up her body and helped her dress, zippering up from the bottom of one leg up over her stomach and past her breasts while she lifted her chin so he could close it the rest of the way. He never thought that dressing a woman in a glorified bag would be so damn enticing.

He lingered close to her for a second and then nodded in the direction they were supposed to go. They walked through a corridor toward the back of the building, surrounded by the smell of things aged and worn.

"They're gonna kick us out if they catch us back here," Cuddy said worriedly.

"This isn't the New York Philharmonic, stop worrying," he said when they reached a ladder about three-quarters of the way back.

He put one arm on the rung and gestured for her to go up the ladder. "No fucking way," she whispered loudly.

"It's the best seat," he nodded.

"We can't be up there!"

"I cleared it with the guy that gave us our black tie getup."

Cuddy looked up the ladder, shaking her head, "I can't sneak up there."

"Yes, you can. You'll love it."

Cuddy surveyed the height of the ladder again, took a deep breath, and grabbed the rungs as she slowly made her way up the ladder. House grinned up at her from below, following a few seconds later. She stepped gracefully off of the ladder to stand on a narrow landing at the top. When House joined her, she leaned over to him, "This is insane!"

"It is insane, I don't how your ass can still look so huge in a fucking jump suit that's two sizes too big."

"I meant being up here."

"If I would have known how great the view was going to be, I just would have taken us to Ladder World and let you test all of the ladders for me."

She crossed her arms, jutting one hip out to the side and trying to look irritated, but failing miserably. The sounds of a chamber orchestra tuning and preparing coasted up from below.

"Come on," he said, taking a few steps across a catwalk to a rounded platform at the middle.

Cuddy certainly didn't have a fear of heights under normal circumstances, but being up there in such an old building with such a rickety catwalk was a bit frightening. House sat down on the rounded platform and patted the space next to him. "They used to have these here to direct the lights," he whispered as she sat. "Now they're all automated, but they still use them to change the bulbs."

He felt her next to him, she sat there cross-legged, and looked down at the musicians and audience. From the appearance of the formal crowd below, it seemed like an evening staged for a group of university donors and maybe administration. A very poised young woman, probably only in her early teens came onto the stage, and people began to clap to welcome her.

The girl sat at the piano and, with the small orchestra behind her, she played. Her technique was astounding, but what made her performance so amazing was the sheer depth of feeling conveyed through her songs.

Bringing Cuddy here was risky. When he heard the girl practicing earlier in the day, and saw the special event for university royalty, he knew this was the perfect place. He tried to find a way to buy tickets, but it was a special event, and tickets couldn't be sold to outsiders. He was deterred only momentarily, until he saw the catwalks. The building was a work of art in itself, probably a hundred years old, and it looked like a theater that students would forever claim was haunted.

House loved the music, he could feel the vibrations of it through the metal walk beneath him, but as captivated as he was by the sounds, his eyes could not leave Cuddy.

She sat cross-legged the entire time, her elbows resting on her knees, and she looked strangely comfortable staring down at the musicians from their stolen seats high above. The recital wasn't long, only about an hour, and as the last piece played, one that was so saturated with deeply romantic sorrow, he could see the hint of wetness at the corner of her eye, her hands resting against her chin and covering her mouth.

It was a huge bet, and House knew there was a possibility that she would storm off at the suggestion of this activity. He remembered two sides of her, the rigid, uptight student, and the feisty party girl he knew could be convinced to have some fun. She didn't speak during the entire program. She was lost in the music and watching her there told him so much about her. When the final chords began to fade, she practically jumped up in ovation, clapping with the rest of the crowd below, clutching her chest in a moment of fear when she realized how high up she was, and that she wasn't one of the few select attendees sitting properly below.

She turned to House, "That was amazing. That was…so beautiful. That was…"

He was right next to her, standing closely, only separated by inches. She held the railing, looked down over the last remnants of the crowd below as they filtered from the room.

"Come on," he said, nodding toward the ladder they came up earlier. "I'll go first, that way I can stare at your ass…it's the least you can do."

She looked slightly amused, but still seemed more possessed by what they had just witnessed than anything else. She certainly didn't look at all irritated. When they reached the bottom, he helped her out of her jumpsuit, an act strangely both intimate and platonic, but an excuse for nearness that he certainly didn't mind. Once he had his removed as well, he tossed them over the bottom rungs of the ladder. She touched his arm to get his attention. "That was the coolest date…I have ever been on. I thought you were insane, wanting me to go up there, but it was amazing. Thank you."

He smiled wider than he would have, had he not been so surprised. "I wanted to do something you wouldn't forget."

"I won't forget. Ever. It was…that was…"

"I didn't want to do dinner and movie. I thought…maybe dinner and a high wire act. So, hungry?"

* * *

Cuddy paid little attention to where they were walking, she was excitedly talking about the music they had heard. He told her about his very normal, somewhat boring position in the infectious disease department at a hospital almost three hundred miles away. Given his troublesome academic record, it was a suitable job. It wasn't bad, just ordinary, and he certainly felt under-utilized.

He held open the door for her as she walked into the restaurant in the middle of a struggling strip mall. The restaurant was a converted fast-food sandwich shop before the new owners bought it, and they did little to disguise that fact. The aroma of the restaurant was warm and thick with spices, and steam rose from the hot tables behind the counter. "Never had Egyptian food," Cuddy said as she stared up at the bright yellow menu board high over the counter.

They decided to get a variety of foods to share, so House leaned over the counter and began to speak to an old man who squinted through his quarter-inch thick, black-rimmed glasses. He wasn't even five feet tall, and looked as if he'd never seen a day of rest in his life. He answered House's order with, "Eh?" several times until a younger girl came forward.

She looked like a high school student, chipper and happy, and she took their order using perfect English. Once they were done ordering, the student turned to the old man and screamed the order so that he could hear. The old man immediately went to work, preparing their plates. It was amazing that a being so old and tired looking could move with such speed. At the end of the counter, a woman who appeared to be the counterpart to the elderly man waited by the cash register with a large bow-grin and barked out the total. House paid and nodded at the woman, answering, "Shukran."

The woman responded by reaching over the counter, and almost violently shaking House's hand with happiness. He and Cuddy walked to one of many cheap yellow tables near the corner. "What did you say to her?" Cuddy asked.

"I asked if her granddaughter was single."

Cuddy responded with a look of disbelief. "You said thank you?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"You speak Arabic?"

"Barely. Enough to say thank you. Not enough to offer to translate for visiting envoys."

"Say something else."

They waited while the first round of food was brought out, an appetizer with salads and spreads and triangles of homemade pita. He gestured toward the food, and told her the various names of each component while they ate.

"Impressive," she commented.

"Not really, the names are written on the menu."

"This is really good," she added as more food came out from the kitchen. "How much did you order?"

"Pretty much all of it. Just try what you like and we'll take the rest back home."

"You moving in?" she teased.

House shook his head, "Fine, _you_ can take the rest back home."

"I'm going away tomorrow."

"Oh yea," he nodded. "You said no boyfriend, but this friend…is this a guy? A potential boyfriend?"

Cuddy shook her head, "Just a friend. A girl."

House nodded, the corners of his mouth smirking a bit. "Are there any potential boyfriends?"

"I suppose all intelligent, attractive, single adult males are technically potential boyfriends, but you know how it is. Who wants to deal with someone while they're a resident? I'm never around. And really, I don't want to spend the two hours of free time I get each week trying to make some guy's mother happy."

"I barely speak to _my_ mother," House answered.

"Keep saying stuff like that and I'm gonna think you aren't just here to have sex with me. I'm gonna think you have a little thing for me."

"You really think that I'm just here to sleep with you?" he asked, softer, with more confusion. "If that was the case, I would have taken my chance at that clinic. Right after you looked at my mouth in that heavy–eyed way. I would have kissed you right there."

"In the clinic?" she asked, swallowing.

"Yea. Why not? I could have kissed you and accepted one of four possible outcomes. Least favorable, the angry kick to the balls. Admittedly, after the way that we parted, and a few of the things I may have said during my exam at the clinic, an understandable option. Second option, angry fleeing from the room. Also understandable. Harder to read than the kick in the balls…much less favorable than the other two options."

"What are the other two options?" she asked as she grabbed another bite to taste.

"Well, we have the sex in the exam room option, or the agreement to meet for sex later option. Both of which would admittedly be fun, but again, only if I'm just looking for sex. You aren't going to believe me no matter what I say so I'm not sure what I can do to convince you."

"I'm less completely opposed to believing you now," she answered.

"We can make an agreement."

"What sort of agreement?"

"If…I'm a perfect gentleman, we're talking behavior wise, not words wise…because we both know that is never going to happen."

"Agreed…"

"I get to exercise the option."

"What option?"

"A second date tomorrow. If I actually make a move that could be construed as sexual…I still pay for everything for the date and I never bother you again."

"A second date?"

"Yes"

"How do you know you want a second date if we haven't finished the first?"

"I just do. Once I like something I tend to stick with it."

"What about my friend? I told her I'd meet her tomorrow…after ditching her tonight."

"Well, we could do something with your friend, but if things go well, maybe you won't want your friends around tomorrow. I know my intentions are pure…but yours?"

She rolled her eyes. "Mine?"

"Don't play innocent. I don't remember you sitting around, passively waiting to be seduced."

"True…"

"Anyway," he continued snottily, "if you have your way, we might be doing things you don't want your friend to see, so maybe you could just wait and see her on Sunday."

Cuddy shook her head, "And again…back and forth between sweet and salacious."

"My duel middle names"

"I'm gonna run to the bathroom, give me a minute to think."

House nodded and looked at her with surprise when she was back much faster than he thought was possible. When he saw her, he looked into her eyes and said, "Ahlan Ya gamila."

"Is that a comment about my breasts?"

He shook his head as his eyes shifted to her breasts and lingered there. "If I was talking about your breasts, I'd say it English."

"What did you say?" she persisted. "Ga-hee-ah?"

"Ga-meeee-la," House corrected, watching her lips intently as she pronounced the word back.

"What does it mean?"

"I have to pee," House said, standing and walking past her to the bathroom.

When he came back out, Cuddy was leaning her elbows on the table, talking to the young woman who was cleaning up their dishes. He felt his breath halt momentarily when she lifted her eyes and met his, locking his gaze the entire time he approached, and he only remembered to breathe again once he sat down.

House took a plastic bag with their desserts, and they wrapped themselves back up in their coats and stepped out into the cold night to walk.

"So why are you working in a clinic for your residency?" House asked as they walked back to her apartment.

"I'm in a special program. I'll actually work in all of the departments before I'm done."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"It's complicated," she said hesitantly.

"What are you hiding?" he asked, stepping closer as they walked.

"I'm in a special program…for people who want to go into hospital administration."

"Oh," House frowned. "Why? Why would someone who's actually intelligent go into administration? You don't have to be smart to do that. You should be the one doctoring, not the one sitting and complaining about how other people doctor."

"I knew you were going to say something like that. I remember your thoughts on the Dean and the assistant back at school."

"They were complete morons!"

"I know…see this is why I didn't bring it up, because I knew you'd react this way."

"Well, they were!"

"What if the administrator wasn't a moron? Did you think of that? What if I was able to help brilliant doctors do their jobs even more brilliantly? Make decisions that are really for the best, instead of caving to some archaic beliefs and convention that stifle doctors from being able to cure?" she was animated and adamant, and staunchly defending her position. "You think I'd just cave? Start kissing asses and forget about medicine and healing and actually curing people? You think I'd turn my back on the doctors who are really trying to make a difference? Goes to show how little you know me."

He was staring at her, he couldn't help it. He was ridiculously aroused by her response, not in a sexual way, but in an intellectual way. This wasn't furniture or dinner menus and it certainly wasn't blasé. She was practically yelling at him. At that moment, he decided that going to find her was exactly what he needed to do.

So he did the only thing that made sense. He baited her further. "People step into those positions, and they completely check their intelligence at the door. You'll lose forty IQ points the second they put your name on a name plate, Dean or CEO or Chief, whatever title they give you while you sit in some office and pass judgment on the people who are actually doing the curing. Hospitals could survive without administrators, but they couldn't survive without doctors."

"I will be more than capable of being both a doctor and an administrator. Making tough decisions for what's best for patients and doctors and the future of medicine all at the same time, keeping myself involved in day-to-day operations and working closely with department heads to actually do something different. Doctors can cure patients without administrators, sure…but they won't get paid. I don't imagine you do a lot of volunteer work. Who will deal with insurance companies and lawsuits…you going to do that too, while you're dealing with your patients?"

"So you think you can be an administrator that actually facilitates doctoring?" he asked sarcastically.

"Yes, I do. I have a fresh perspective…and I have the drive. And I actually want to make a difference instead of sitting around, sinking into the status-fucking-quo."

They were just rounding into the driveway that would lead back to her apartment. She was heated, irate, feeling the furious grip of her rage, and then she realized he wasn't responding. She turned to the side and he was smiling at her. "What the hell are you smirking at?" she asked angrily. "You don't have a decent come back for that?"

She was standing in front of him, walking backwards, slowing his progression. When he still didn't answer, she stopped, unwilling to let him go another step until he addressed her question. He looked to the side, trying to think of what to do, and he heard her continue, "You afraid I might actually be right?"

"That's _exactly_ what I'm afraid of," he said.

Then he immediately dropped the bags of food on the ground and stepped forward. His hands went to either side of her face as he leaned lower and he held her still while his lower lip brushed upward over hers until he gently surrounded her upper lip between his. He backed up just the tiniest bit and whispered, "kissing is not a sexual overture," and then before she could respond to his words, his lips were on hers again.

She held her anger for a brief moment, but when he nudged her lips apart, she parted them voluntarily. The kiss became deeper and she could feel the grip of their desire overcoming her as truly as it did when she was younger and more reckless. She dropped the only bag she was carrying and stepped a half step closer, putting her arms underneath his coat and around him so she was almost surrounded by him, the cold from the air forgotten as their bodies were closer than they'd been in nearly a decade.

She moved against him, her breasts brushing from side to side as she tried to get closer to him. Kissing him fervently, she sucked on his bottom lip, her tongue tracing skillfully along the shape of it until he found his lips surrounding her tongue to draw it into his mouth, wanting to feel their bodies as close together as they could be while clothed and kissing in a driveway. He popped open the single large button that kept her heavy coat closed so that he could feel the softness of that black sweater made warm by her body.

She was grabbing his hips, pulling him toward her, and he kept trying to resist because he knew she would feel the physical stirrings of his desire if she rubbed her sexy little body against his pelvis.

He was torn because he wanted to never stop kissing her, he also desperately wanted to reacquaint himself with her naked body, and he wanted her to know that he was sincere. In his mind, trying to fuck her in the driveway before they were even back to her apartment certainly wouldn't make her believe that he was there for any other reason than the carnal, but the feeling of her against him, and him against her, was steadily leading him towards forgetting that he had another goal.

His hands, under her coat, began to slide down her back, almost as if they were destined follow the beautiful slopes and dips of her body so they could grab onto her ass and crush her to him. In a final moment of resolve, just as his fingertips found the upward slope of her ass, his hands moved away and went to her shoulders where he willed them to remain anchored to the safer spot.

She acted more impatiently than he did when her hands found the belt loops on the backs of his jeans and yanked his body forward against her with surprising strength. Still moving her mouth against his, her tongue exploring perfectly along his lips and in his mouth, her hands found his on her shoulders and demandingly pulled them back around her body, directing them to the small of her back.

Seeming confused by the relaxed idleness of his hands, which remained where she put them, she dropped her feet down flat on the ground and whispered, playfully, yet hesitantly, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered, returning his lips to her.

"Don't you want to kiss me?"

"I think it's pretty obvious by the way that I am kissing you that I want to kiss you."

"So true," she purred as she reached up to kiss him again, but just before her lips made contact she whispered, "Don't you want to touch me?"

"I want to touch you…so, so badly."

"Then touch me"

"I still want to exercise my option. I want a second date tomorrow. I know your friend wants to see you, but she can see you whenever and this might be my last chance to make an impression."

"It doesn't take you long to make an impression, House."

"Good," he answered, dropping down to meet her lips with his, their bodies nearly pulsing against each other. When their mouths parted, he said, softly, "I still told you I wouldn't make a pass at you tonight."

"What if _I_ made a pass at _you_?" she asked.

"You're going to assume that is why I am here. And then tomorrow morning, I'll wake up happy, and you'll wake up feeling used. And then I'll have to prove to you again that I'm not just using you, and in the process of that we'll have sex again…because, for some reason, you and I are always going to be one decision away from having sex again. You felt what I felt in the clinic yesterday. Part of you wanted me to fuck you at work with just that flimsy clinic room door between you and me fucking, and the chance that every single person in that hospital would know that you were the one who fucked a patient in room seven."

"I'm a doctor…and a professional. I'd never do that."

"But you wanted to," he said, a bit anxiously, because there was a chance that she'd rejected him.

She paused, for a brief second that carried the weight of a decade, "I did. Part of me did."

"I'm disorderly and you like order…but you are attracted to me, which means part of you wants a little…disorder in your life."

"What happens if I admit that? Are you gonna laugh and walk away, feeling like you won? That the stupid undergrad you tried so hard to convince meant something to you was stupid enough to believe you again?"

"No," he shook his head resolutely, "I never thought you were stupid and I wasn't laughing when I was walking away."

"So you think I'm beautiful?" she asked as she ran the backs of her fingers along his cheek and looked surprised when he pressed his face against her. He softly kissed her fingers as they passed by the corner of his mouth.

When he remained silent, she said, "Because you half told me that in my apartment, and then you called me that in the restaurant, but even there you have to hide it a language I don't understand."

"She told you?" he asked.

"The girl at the restaurant, yea. She told me what you said. If you think I'm beautiful, why can't you just tell me that?"

"I dunno. You probably know you are whether I tell you that or not."

"You think I'm a narcissist?"

"No, I think you should know you are."

"Whether _I_ know, or don't know, I don't know whether _you_ think I am."

She was still standing against him, he could still feel the heat of her body, their arms were under coats and the moment was a strange combination of perfection and dangerous potential. "I've _always_ thought you were beautiful," he said, looking off to the side again.

The fact that he looked so unsure and unsettled by her was oddly attractive. "Thank you," she whispered. She put her finger under his chin to move his gaze to her and she said, "Ahlan Ya gamil."

He smirked at her words, the masculine derivative of the same thing he said to her, "Hey Beautiful," or "Hey Handsome."

"You're a quick study," he replied. "Perhaps not much of a judge of beauty."

"I know what I'm talking about," she answered sweetly, her lips moving toward his again.

He wanted to remain there for much longer, kissing her and being kissed as hands and arms remained warm and covered by each other's coats, but it was cold and late and they couldn't stand there forever.

When they finally parted, they decided to go inside, picking up the dropped bags of leftovers and hurriedly returning to her apartment. Without the warmth of the other one, the near-winter night felt achingly cold and uncomfortable, the environment less welcoming. The plastic bags rattled as they jogged up the steps. At the landing at the top, she fumbled for her keys, her numbly cold fingers barely able to remove the correct key from the middle of other keys. Once inside, they both sighed their relief at the encroaching warmth of the air.

She took the bags from his hands, and placed them on the counter and shrugged off her coat, draping it over the chair near her. He could finally see her again, her body, her form, that drifted and shifted and breathed beneath the clothing that barely separated them a few minutes earlier.

He heard her grumbling by the sink and went to assist her. When they dropped the bags with leftovers, the plastic containers cracked and the food inside one of the bags was a mixed mess of different flavors smeared all over the other containers and the inside of the bag. Her right hand was covered, so she shook most of the thick mess back into the bag before she licked a finger and hummed, "Still tastes good," and a faint, needy breath escaped his lips, enough to make her face him. "Want some?" she asked with intentional flirtation.

He grasped her hand under his, his rough thumb against the soft dip in her palm, and he lifted her finger to his mouth and slid his tongue underneath, closing his lips tightly around it, "That _is_ good," he nodded, "They should sell that."

"How do you say 'leftover slurry' in Arabic?"

"I have no idea."

Her eyes caught movement outside of her kitchen window, and she looked down at the swing still lit up by the neighbor's porch light. "I heard there was snow coming. It's starting."

"I didn't hear about any snow," he answered until she gave him a look.

She unfolded one of the many unread newspapers stacked on her kitchen table and found the forecast. She opened the paper fully, placed it on the table, and tapped the next day's forecast with her finger.

"Flurries?" he asked.

"Flurries can be _very_ dangerous," she remarked.

"Right…the whole…single snowflake in the eye thing?"

"I'm trying to trick you into staying in a subtle way. Would you play along?"

He chuckled, "Sorry, I'm not so good at the whole dating thing."

"Actually…you are. Due to the weather conditions, I think it's safest if you stay here."

"You think so?"

"I had an amazing time running around with you this evening. It would be irresponsible of me to allow you to risk life and limb. You better stay."


	3. Treating the Patient

_A/N-Thank you to those who reviewed the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, lenasti16, jaybe61, JCLH, dmarchl21, byte size, Truth, ikissedtheLaurie, jkarr, Abby, Paola, Suzieqlondon, HuddyGirl, Boo's House, Little Greg, Alex, LoveMyHouse, Iane Casey, Lapiz Silkwood, Lau and the Guest reviewers. Thanks also to all who have Favorited and Followed this little story.  
_

_I'll try to get "Preservation" updated within a day or two.  
_

_***Disclaimers still apply._

* * *

-Treating the Patient-

Cuddy was simultaneously flattered, touched and irritated by House's patience regarding the possibility of physical intimacy. Since their kiss in the driveway, she could think of little else. She was picky with her partners, careful with those she chose, but she remembered how wonderful he felt before, and her mind ran through the possibilities of a more experienced, possibly more precise and patient lover. She had plenty of good encounters, some great ones, but none of them would ever live up to the benchmark he set.

Cuddy's home was stocked with very few provisions, much like a bachelor pad since she was seldom home. Just after two A.M., Cuddy insisted they head out to the twenty-four hour grocery store before the "storm" of flurries got too bad. She was planning a day at home with a man she was quickly falling for. She knew it was fast, and part of her felt like she should still be angry with him, but she simply couldn't be. The date was one of the most original, romantic things anyone had ever done for her, and she was probably more attracted to him than she ever had been before. As time wore on, her guard slowly lowered.

He said he had a car parked on the street nearby that they could use to get to the store more quickly without freezing in the process. She wondered how underpaid he was at his job when he unlocked the door of his Dodge Dynasty so she could get in on the passenger's side.

House pulled into the parking lot, took the keys from the ignition, and stared ahead, his hands on the wheel when he said, solemnly, "I have something I should tell you before this goes any further, because I'm guessing if I tell you this later you might be more irritated."

"I swear, House," she said through clenched teeth, "If you are married, tell me now…and if you _ever_ contact me again-"

"I'm not married," House interrupted. "I'm also not engaged or partnered, I don't have a girlfriend or a lady-friend or anything. I don't even have a hamster. It's not about that."

"OK," she answered with a relieved sigh.

"I told you that I didn't call you before because I got kicked out of school."

"Yes. That's the past."

"I was on that date, the one I was out on when I thought of you. She was boring…normal."

"So you wanted someone weird and came to find me?"

"I wanted someone not boring, but that's not what happened. I got home, and there was a message on my answering machine from my boss. He fired me."

"He fired you? Why?" she asked, stunned at the admission.

"I _was_ right."

"What did you do? What were you right about?"

"I overheard this pompous, pretty boy department head, telling this woman that she had fibromyalgia. They didn't run nearly enough tests. He was condemning this woman to a life of pain without bothering to try everything else first. I thought it sounded like Lyme Disease."

"They fired you for questioning him?"

"I tried questioning him, in a not so polite or professional way perhaps, but he wouldn't even consider the possibility that he could be wrong. So I went in overnight, put her on high powered antibiotics and checked her out the next day. I had her come to my office for additional IV antibiotics, and her attending thought she checked out before he could release her the next morning."

"Why did he think that?"

"Let's just say her records would lead one to make such a conclusion. Three or four weeks later, she went in and told him that most of her symptoms were completely gone…those that weren't, were barely noticeable."

"It _was _Lyme's," she confirmed.

"It was. So they fired me for making an ass out of him."

"Or…because you treated her against the advice of her doctor, probably didn't document your course of treatment, and put her in danger of interactions with other medication," she answered.

"That was sort of the official excuse. But I was right. She won't spend her life in misery because of me."

"Did you try talking to your department head or whoever supervises him?"

"I tried. They dismissed me faster than her attending did."

"And why exactly did this completely irresponsible course of action make you think of me?"

"When I got kicked out of school, I didn't call you because I didn't want you to have to put up with my mistakes. But last week, when I heard I was fired, I realized that the woman in the next room…I actually _wanted_ an excuse to get rid of her. And when I got kicked out of school, I didn't want to get rid of you. I started wondering what you would have done if I wouldn't have made the decision for you. And really, what I did in school could be seen by some as wrong, but treating that woman was not."

"You can't just…do whatever you want with people's treatment and disregard other doctors and overall patient safety because you think you're right," she said with certainty.

"OK," he nodded. "I guess I have my answer. Now you know I'm unemployed, and I'm the type of man who disregards patient safety…when I _know _I'm right. I should have told you before we went out, saved you the trouble." His hand took the key back to the ignition. "I'll take you home."

Her hand covered his. "I hate how you make decisions for me," she said.

"What do you mean?"

She breathed in, answering with frustration, "I mean you get kicked out of school and make the decision about how I'm going to respond without ever giving me the opportunity. Then you just automatically decide that you tell me about getting fired, and because I ask you a fucking question about what happened, you decide you're going to drop me, forget about me until the next time you have an impulse to show up on my doorstep or at my work. You think I'm not capable of making my own decisions?"

"No…"

"Then why? Why not trust me enough to give me the facts and let _me_ make a decision?"

"You think I wanted to listen to you tell me to fuck off after our last night together?" he returned angrily. "I actually liked you. I didn't say that stuff lightly, and it wasn't just talk. I wanted something more. I wasn't used to that, and then it was all going to be gone."

"You were scared of my reaction?"

"No," he scoffed.

"You were scared I'd tell you I didn't want you?"

"No," he scoffed less resolutely to the point where it seemed obviously a lie.

"You really did like me."

He shrugged, looking outside.

Her hand slipped onto his arm. "Don't decide I'm rejecting you when I'm not," she insisted.

"You're gonna tell me you don't mind?" he asked, disbelieving.

"I like you. This is unexpected. The date, your presence, completely unforeseen. But I like it. I'm not walking away. You keep walking away or trying to under the misguided belief that that's what I want."

"You don't like failure."

"I think you were wrong to disregard the rules, because they were there to protect that woman. However, your diagnosis was right, and the fact that you were willing to put your neck out for her, for what you knew was right, was admirable."

"So what do you expect me to do in that situation?" he asked.

"Well, I expect that you rethink the importance of administrators who actually care about doctors and patients."

"Administrators don't care."

"They should! You make fun of me, but if I would have been your administrator, something would have been different. You could have at least argued your case to someone who wanted to do what was best for the patient."

"You would have made the same decision."

"Maybe, I wasn't there. I didn't have the chance to make a decision."

"Fine…from your privileged spaced at the top of the theoretical, administrative high horse, tell me what you'd actually do."

"OK," Cuddy said, nodding and looking forward while she considered her answer. "I would have listened to both of your concerns."

"So you're gonna introduce some pop psychology hand-holding crap into medicine? Yeah, that'll fix it," he retorted sarcastically.

"You want my answer or you want to bitch before I even have a chance to present it?"

"Fine"

"I would have told the attending that fibromyalgia is a diagnosis of exclusion. So I would have asked what diseases with similar symptoms he had excluded. I would have asked you what disease or diseases you thought it could be. If there were any discrepancies, I would have told him that he had to rule those out before settling on a diagnosis of fibromyalgia. I would have considered the possibility that the other doctor could have been wrong, which it sounds like no one, except you, actually did. In medicine, we always need to consider that the answer we think is the right one…could be wrong."

"You mean that."

"Yea, I mean that. I'll telling you…I'm gonna be amazing," she said, still adamant and certain.

"I think that what you want is probably not possible. It's a really nice thought."

"Well, I refuse to just sit back and not try because of the chance that I might fail. I will fail. Sometimes. But sometimes I'll succeed. And if I would have been your boss…you'd still have a job _and_ the girl would be cured. So in that case, it was possible."

"You really get worked up about this," he said, teasing with a hint of fondness.

"I do. I take this very seriously. And maybe you shouldn't have just disregarded the importance of administrators when you yourself could have benefited from having one who wasn't a moron. Maybe you shouldn't have just dismissed me."

"Can you hurry up and get a job so I can apply?"

Cuddy laughed loudly, her ire fading a bit. "Might be inappropriate. Given our past or, more appropriately, given what I'm hoping for in the future. I might be a little biased."

"I do have to really exercise my impulse control when you get all opinionated and administrative, but I'm willing to do my part."

"I'm full of opinions and willing to express them…you'll be turned on a lot."

"There's that withering confidence again."

"You thought I'd turn you down because you got fired?" Cuddy said, shaking her head.

"Are you going to seriously consider going out with an unemployed jerk who likes to objectify you?"

"Sure," she nodded, "if that unemployed, objectifying jerk is the same guy I went out with tonight…yea. I _definitely_ want to go out with the guy I saw tonight and I am going to help him get his old job back or get a new one."

"You and the girls are going to make my old boss see the error of his ways?"

"I'm very persuasive."

"I don't doubt that, I just have a feeling that, 'Hey Monahan, this is the feisty resident I'm gamin' on…she's gonna be a boss someday, and she thinks I need my job back because she thinks you're stupid,' might not work."

"You really need to learn how to pitch an idea. This is why doctors like you…need administrators like me," she said flirtatiously.

"You'd do that? As misguided and pointless as it is, you would go out of your way to help me get my job back?"

"Absolutely"

"I'll let you play with my man stuff anyway. You don't have to win me over."

"You're a pig," she nodded, unfazed.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because you sound like an amazing doctor, willing to sacrifice anything for a patient."

"No, I'm willing to sacrifice anything for an answer."

"Semantics. The patient still wins. It's still the right thing to do," Cuddy said assuredly.

* * *

When they finished their shopping, Cuddy nudged House's arm with her shoulder. "See, now if we don't want to, or if the weather's too bad, we don't even have to go anywhere tomorrow," she announced proudly.

"There is actually about one-eighth of an inch of snow on the ground," House said as he slid his shoes in the scant dusting of snow that covered the ground.

Cuddy smirked, House was such an unusual combination of child-like playfulness, genius-level brilliance and grouchy doubt. The little concoction of strangeness that comprised the man skating in front of her was easily reigniting an enormous crush in the young resident. She was already smitten. Not to be outdone and hoping to feed off of his innate playfulness, Cuddy jogged a few steps before planting her feet on the ground, sliding past him, and giggling until she lost her balance.

House chuckled when she fell on the ground, unceremoniously slipping partially under a truck parked in front of her. As he walked over to her side to see if she was OK, he said, "You were right…flurries are so dangerous."

Once Cuddy was standing up, brushing the snow off of her body, he saw that her one arm was bleeding, and an abandoned beer bottle was broken on the ground. "Shit, Cuddy," he said with concern, opening the trunk of his car, throwing the bags in the back and pulling her over to the car to look at the wound on her arm.

"I'm fine," she said with irritation.

"Don't act all embarrassed, just let me see. I didn't know you were hurt," he said, sounding repentant.

He squinted at her arm, lit by the light of the trunk. "You're really bleeding. Want to go get stitches?" He grabbed a tee shirt from a bag in his back seat and returned to her, giving it to her to use to apply pressure and stop the bleeding.

"I have a kit, I'll close it up at home."

"Tetanus shots in stock too?"

"Just had one last year, I'll be fine," she answered unhappily.

She barely spoke in the car, and House carried the bags upstairs. Once inside the door, House shouted, "You can't possibly blame me."

"I don't blame you," she answered stiffly as she put away the groceries that needed to be kept cold.

"You aren't talking. You're pissed."

"I'm not pissed."

"Then why the silent treatment?"

"I made a complete ass out of myself, sorry if that doesn't make me happy."

"You completely did," he said as he walked closer until he was directly in front of her. "But you had fun doing it. I like that side of you."

"The falling side?"

"That too. I meant the slipping around side though. Come on, I'll clean it up for you."

"I can do it," she sighed.

House stooped down far enough to sling her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry while she squealed her shock. "Where's your kit?" he asked.

"Bathroom. Put me down," she demanded through her giggling.

He easily walked under the weight of her, stopping briefly to grab the bottle of liquor that he had just purchased. Her bathroom was small but functional, and he placed her on the counter next to the single-bowl sink. He opened the counter under the sink and looked through the drawers until he found the drawer stocked with medical supplies.

He opened the bottle of liquor, took a swift swig from it and handed it to her.

"Doing this old west style?" she teased.

"Yup"

"Or you could use the topical anesthetic I have."

"We'll use that too," he smiled as he pushed the bottle back toward her and watched while she took a single gulp.

He pushed her coat down off of her shoulders, helping her to slip her arms out of the holes. He nudged her legs open so he could move closer, weaving one arm around her waist and lifting her up off of the countertop just far enough to get rid of the coat that was still partially underneath her. They were both fully aware of the sensations of closeness, the way the other one felt and smelled and looked when so very close. He stepped back a quarter step, enough so that he wasn't pressed against the warmness of her jeans just at the meeting of her thighs. When his fingers reached under the hem of her sweater and began to pull it up, she stopped him.

"Sleeves are too tight. I'll be able to get at it better with your sweater off," he said clinically.

She loosened her grip on her shirt but still hesitated.

"I'm not allowed to take your sweater off? You were sort of hinting about sex earlier…I'm really hoping to do that topless too," he teased.

With a soft smile she released her grip entirely, and he whispered, "I've got it."

He pulled her undamaged arm out of the sleeve first, his fingers finding the soft skin under her arm, then pulled the sweater over her head, leaving it on the arm with the cut. Taking scissors, he stated, "It's ruined anyway," and he cut up the side of the sleeve so that he didn't have to drag it over the wound.

"You probably could have just cut off the sleeve instead of taking off the entire sweater," she suggested.

"Where's the fun in that?"

She was nervous and excited and hurt at the same time. Her wrist and the bottom part of her hand felt the fieriness of the cut and the ensuing pain, her torso was cold from being uncovered and she was nervous to have him standing so near. He looked briefly at her body, shirtless with a red bra that her breasts pushed out against to perfectly fill the garment. He smirked at her and shook his head to clear the thoughts that were welling in it.

At that point, he washed his hands thoroughly before addressing her wound. It was about three inches long, and stopped at the point where her thick coat's sleeve probably ended. The glass sliced right through her black sweater, leaving tufts of fabric along the jagged cut. Holding her arm out over the sink, he flushed out the wound with sterile solution and felt her involuntarily pulling back, so his hand carefully held her still. After opening a suturing kit, he covered the area with topical anesthetic and then patiently sewed up the slice, doing what he could to avoid infection.

When he was done stitching, the area around the cut was red and sore, but he treated the relatively innocuous injury with the seriousness of open heart surgery. She knew, because she watched him every second that he touched her. He covered it in antibiotic cream and gauze to protect the area before taping the bandage into place, his face only inches from hers. He was still standing between her legs, but facing her arm instead of her torso, his hip leaning against the counter. He could feel the heat of her body, but remained trained on his job as if there was nothing else in the entire world.

After he was done, he pushed the empty packages into a garbage can and washed his hands and the sink before he faced her. His hands were braced on the counter next to each of her thighs, and she said, softly, "Thank you."

"Any time. I did my best repair work so you don't have that to hold against me." Before the next breath, it was as if a switch flipped, and he realized the beauty before him. "When you put this bra on after your shower…were you hoping that I'd see you in it?"

She smirked, purposefully hardening her jaw to try to hide the fact that she felt uncertain and exposed. "I wasn't sure yet, but if things went well, I thought you'd like this."

"You were right," he nodded, "About the possibility of things going well, and that I'd like it."

"Thanks," she answered noncommittally, and then she ran one finger along the bottom of his tee shirt, near his hip. "When you put this on this morning, did you think about the possibility that I would be the person who took it off?"

"No," he shook his head. "I wasn't sure if you'd even talk to me, and I really had no intention of sleeping with you tonight."

"You mean last night," she suggested before she wiggled forward.

He took her sore hand in his, delicately tracing each of the fingers. "Does it hurt a lot?"

"A little. Probably not as much as my ego," she smiled.

"Sitting there with that body, in that bra…your ego has absolutely nothing to worry about."

"Still both sweet and salacious"

"That's me," he nodded, his eyes flowing along her body.

"You want ice? Ibuprofen?"

"No," she shook her head. "That isn't what I want at all." She lifted his shirt, initially using both hands until he stopped her sore hand.

"Be careful"

"Help me then," she insisted, using her one hand to help him remove his tee shirt, mostly as an excuse to touch the man beneath the fabric. "I think you can make me feel better without ibuprofen or ice."

Her hands went to his body, the fingers of both hands tracing his collarbones before sliding down his chest, dragging her nails occasionally over the skin. She watched his reactions, the blank yet aroused look on his face, the way his skin prickled or twitched underneath the subtleness of her touch. His hands returned to their previous spot, firmly placed on the counter. "I don't want to fuck this up. You're going to realize your mistake and we'll be done."

"Stop making decisions for me about what I want or what I'm going to do. I have this…huge crush on you, don't disregard that."

He smirked at her words, his happiness tempered by his own uncertainty. "What do you want?" he asked while her hands moved his hands to her hips.

"Are we talking at this exact moment or long range?"

"Long range"

"I think it took some serious balls to show up here…that you wanted us to see something through that we didn't get to before. I want to see it through with you."

"You do?" he nodded.

"Yea"

"Are you gonna hold the past against me? Is that something that will always hang over us?"

"Don't be stupid. I told you it wasn't a surprise that you left. You coming back…was more of a surprise than your disappearing act."

"Good to know," he said while his hands moved up her sides, caressing her skin with increasingly larger motions as he realized that she wasn't trying to stop him.

"Don't run off again though. Not like that. If we don't work, if you want out, you owe me a goodbye before you go."

His hands stopped and he nodded as he looked downward. "That's the long range. What do you want…right now?"

"Do you have to ask that?"

"I want to ask that"

She reached up and kissed his chin, brushing her face along the rough texture of his jawline, kissing the bend at the back of his jaw, and whispering up to his ear, "I want you to kiss me…and I want you to keep your hands on my body. I don't want you to stop touching me unless it's absolutely necessary."

His hands continued to move along her waist, his fingers tracing the lower ridge of her ribs. His hands felt like they were surrounding her when he tugged her forward on the counter until she was against his body. She pressed forward against him, just for the chance to temporarily address the craving she'd been cultivating since he showed up in her exam room. His hands went up her body, snagging momentarily on the sides of her bra before simultaneously circling to her back and sliding along it, creating tantalizing sensations that did nothing to dissuade her from her want.

He kissed the cap of one shoulder, and then moved along the upward line of her shoulder to her neck, touching the unfathomably soft skin at times with his nose or lips or cheek. He buried his face against her neck, his lips dotting kisses at her pulse point. He broke from his commitment to patient hesitance when he finally reached her mouth. There was nothing delicate or gentle about the way his lips met and moved against hers, about the way that his tongue sought hers, the way that he discovered her lips and mouth with assertive desire. By the approving and hopeful gasps that signaled her appreciation, she hoped he'd take the cue, and he'd refuse to back away too soon. His response was unequivocally invested, his hands still against her, circling to the front to surround her breasts, both pairs of thumbs and forefingers finding each of her nipples.

He remembered from their previous night her straightforward and honest responses to sensations, and the way it enhanced the experience. For a man who wanted to ensure without doubt that his partner's needs were met, both the subtle and overt confirmations of approval were powerfully arousing. Her knuckles brushed his lower abdomen, below his belly button, and when her fingers found the button on his jeans, he automatically pushed forward toward her, his body wanting to hurry everything his mind wanted to prolong.

She winced a bit when something aggravated her hand, and he stopped kissing her, but his hands didn't leave her. He moved her sore hand off to the side. "Relax," he said, the sound of his voice sending a noticeable shock of heated wetness to her already awakened feelings of arousal. "I'll take care of everything, just tell me what you want."

"I want you to unbutton your jeans."

"Getting there. Ladies first," he whispered, and she felt her bra open to release her breasts. He had no choice but to groan when he touched them.

The textures were enticing, the feelings of his hands along the softness of the curves of her breast and the rigid skin of her nipple meeting in moments of alternating friction and smoothness. He looked down to watch the way his hands looked on her breasts, to accompany his sense of touch with his sense of sight, and at that point he had to taste her too. His tongue first found the stiff flesh with soft passes over her, but when her hand found the back of his head, urging him on, he gradually increased the contact, touching her not only with his tongue, but with his lips and teeth, allowing the contrasting sensations of cold air and warm body, soft mouth, rough cheeks and wet tongue to bring to her senses the unanticipated.

He unbuttoned her jeans and guided her arms around his neck, standing fully upright so she was lifted off of the counter, hanging from his shoulders while he tugged her pants down to her thighs. His mouth returned to her neck, nipples and mouth while his hands pushed the jeans down her legs. In his excitement, he'd forgotten her shoes were still on her feet, so her jeans were actually hanging inside-out from the bottoms of her legs. He dropped down on his knees, pulling her shoes off of her feet through her jeans and allowing the knotted mass of shoe, sock and denim to fall to the ground.

Remaining on his knees, her body loomed above him, gloriously naked except for one pair of red, lacy panties. He pulled her forward on the counter, and she tried to remove them until he stopped her, "We had an understanding."

Then she remembered, perfectly well, the way that he told her in the clinic exam room that he didn't want her to rip off her panties, he wanted her to want him to remove them.

"I want you to drag my panties down my legs," she said, recalling the words he had spoken in the exam room.

He hesitated and she could see the synapses firing in his head, teetering between his twin desires for an intimate moment and to right the wrongs of the past.

Her hand went to his face while he remained on the floor in front of her, "The past is forgiven. Just…tell me you won't do that again. Tell me you won't disappear without a goodbye," she asked.

He nodded.

"No matter what you do, or how you think I'll react, I've earned that from you," she added.

"OK," he nodded, with great weight placed on the gravity of the agreement.

"One of the things they're stressing in hospital administration is patient care, beyond meeting the medical need. Making patients feel respected, comfortable, treating the entire patient instead of parts of him or her."

He looked up from the floor quizzically, "You want to argue hospital administration in an attempt to work me up?"

"I'm your patient. You addressed my most urgent medical need, the _very _mild trauma to my hand and wrist. You've made me feel reassured, but I have other needs that I desperately want addressed. I just won't feel happy with the standard of care you've provided until I feel you've treated my entire person."

"So you're suggesting I'm negligent?" he smirked.

"I'm suggesting…that ignoring needs this desperate, it's really all-out malpractice," she squinted, her lips twisting slightly, her intention lascivious, but her gaze more affectionate than she realized.

He scratched at his cheek while he thought and said, "At this point in my career, a lawsuit like that might really destroy me."

"I'd own your ass"

"In that case, maybe I'll wait on the lawsuit," he said with a suggestive brow.

She felt a bit confused, questions running through her mind about whether she was pushing too hard, if at some point he'd changed his mind and he was regretting his return. She saw his face covered in an expression of concern as he seemed to read her mind. "I told you, I just don't want to fuck up."

"OK," she nodded, jumping down off of the counter when she decided he simply wasn't ready for them to move forward.

His hands moved to her hips with lightening reflexes, his thumbs conforming to the jut of her hipbones. Pushing her until her back met the counter again, he shook his head, "We're not finished here."

He lifted her left hip and used his knee to nudge her left foot out to widen her stance, so that her feet were farther apart. His hands circled her legs, his thumbs along her inner calf, then inadvertently tickling the soft, sensitive skin behind her knees and enjoying the feeling of every muscle fiber covered in pale, soft skin the entire way up her thigh. His thumbs were so near her wetness that she could already feel her body shifting toward him, not only from the desire built up during a perfect date, but after years of chasing something that felt so perfectly intense for a brief night in history. Her panties were the only thing she was still wearing, and strangely the small pile of interwoven threads was the one thing preventing his full access to her body.

Her bare feet wiggled on the cold linoleum floor with growing anticipation while his mouth moved forward toward her. Her eyes actually fluttered shut and head tipped back the slightest bit as she hoped to feel his long fingers move her panties to the side while his tongue went beyond the ineffective barrier to finally begin to meet her needs. She looked down when she didn't feel pleasant touch of his tongue, and she found him looking up at her, both aroused and already proud that she wanted him so badly. There was no way he could mistake the situation and feel he was taking advantage of her when she was looking at him with such a needful expression. He moved forward and she gasped when his lips pressed a kiss at her center through her panties.

She groaned with both pleasure and frustration, which stopped the moment his fingers slid under the crotch of her panties. His fingers cupped up to conform to her body, not probing just pressing, applying pressure. She could feel him watching as she rocked a bit against the pressure of his hand, and when she wriggled to the right, his middle finger landed between her folds and slid against the abundant moisture that coated her lips. At that moment he groaned, as hopeful and desirous as she was. He didn't rebuke her, but removed his fingers, turning them and hooking them under the fabric, his other hand moving to the elastic by her hip.

He dragged off the article of clothing, watching her tip her pelvis forward, hoping to encourage him to return his attention to her more quickly. She didn't say anything, her mouth slightly open, her tongue slipped between her lips to fend of the dryness that was beginning because of the frequency of the gentle puffs of breath drifting in and out of her body. She lifted each of her feet in turn and watched while he moved both arms between her legs, his hands roughly cupping her ass cheeks to create a chair that conformed to her body.

She yelped when he pulled her forward, his tongue reaching between her folds to lap along the edges of her entrance, probing only the slightest bit inside of her before dragging slowly forward. His lips surrounded her clit as soon as he reached it, his tongue circling with consistent rhythm while his lips held her in place. She moaned slowly, "Damn I missed your mouth."

He could feel her clit pulse between his lips as her orgasm began to build all too soon, so his hands lifted her up higher so that he could probe at her core with his tongue, reaching into her repeatedly. His change of location didn't have the desired effect, and she was quickly building to completion again. The tease of the day left her body and mind too aroused to prolong anything for too long if there was contact of any kind.

She dropped back, her lower body still supported by his hands on her ass, her upper body held in place by her elbows on the counter. The combined assault of her reaction on his senses made him feel that even the pressure of his clothes on his arousal was too much stimulation; there was no more amazing experience than getting off the woman who was writhing against his face and in his hands. His lips returned to her clit, and he directed his attentions to the rhythmic lapping and gentle sucks of the tiny concentration of nerves that he would use to push her over the edge into a complete surrender to pleasure.

Her pleasure erupted in a primal growl so low it could have been mistaken for pain, except he knew that it was one of pleasure. She jerked against him, no longer in control of her responses as she refused to allow anything to come between her wetness and his mouth. She groaned aloud in time with a second, sharper wave of orgasm while she moaned his name, and just when the highest peak began to abate, she moaned, "I've been waiting for you to do that again."

When she calmed, he put her feet on the floor, and he could see the way her folds and inner thighs glistened with wetness. He tried to lift her again to return his face to her center. "Let me touch you…every second of every day."

"I need you inside me. Right now," she demanded.

She pushed him back, his shoulders and upper body were against the opposite wall of the narrow bathroom, his knees were slightly bent, feet against the bottom of the sink. She sat next to him, and winced a bit from the pressure in her hand when she tried to unbutton his jeans. "I got it," he said as he leaned up to kiss her.

She reached past him into the bottom of the closet, grabbing a box of unopened condoms and rattling it. He took the box, destroying it in his attempt to remove the wrapped contents. Ripping open the package, his head thumped back against the wall when her hand formed an L-shape at the base of his erection and began to move, brushing along the underside. She wondered if she had ever seen anyone as hard and strained as he was, and she felt like the most desirable woman to ever breathe. "Take your pants off, I've got this," she said, taking the package from him.

He lifted his hips, shoving his pants roughly down his body and found her moving over to straddle his thighs. The pressure of her hand, rolling the condom down over his arousal was almost too much. "You sure you want to do this in your bathroom?" he managed in a moment of clarity.

"I want to do this in every single spot in my apartment. Might as well start here."

She lifted up, sinking down on him much more forcibly than she intended and she sighed, her one hand resting on his stomach because she needed time to adjust to him. He was the perfect size, just big enough, larger than normal and thick enough to feel that he filled her completely. "God, you feel…so good," she moaned, and he tried desperately not to grab onto her hips and relentlessly thrust into her until he finally released the heaviness that had been building inside of him.

Looking at her body, he was overcome by the thought that no man, himself included, ever deserved to be in the place where he was, so close to her, allowed access and familiarity in a way that was more than he felt he could hope for. That sense of unworthiness made him wonder if he should run, sparing her the burden of him. The result of that for them would be loneliness, and the thought of her left with unrequited loves, hopes and dreams made him want to be the one man worthy of what she was allowing.

He pushed up on his hands so that he was partially upright, just to feel their upper bodies against each other, he began kissing her gently, letting her taste the remaining flavor of her in his mouth while he gave her body time to accommodate. Her arms wrapped around his neck. Their hips were still and he thought he might pass out from need, but she could feel how much he didn't want to hurt her. She circled her hips, keeping him firmly within her, and he groaned again, reaching deep into his well of self-control to exercise patience in a nearly impossible moment. "You know what would feel good?" she asked.

"Tell me."

"If you start moving, just a little, pushing into my body, let me feel how hard you are…how much you want me…the whole way through my body."

He pressed up, just a little and watched her respond. "Do that again," she sighed.

So he did. With each lift of his hips she'd request, "Again," until the words became a moan and began to mix with other words like "faster" and "please" and "more" interspersed with "agains."

He desperately tried to meet each and every request until she started to moan more loudly, forming the words, "Come with me," and his control wilted.

His pelvis lifted repeatedly without hesitance or reservation, driving upward toward her with the combined forces of biological urge, physiological need, psychological desire and an almost spiritual yearning. His athletic legs were powerful below her, helping him to move into her, rocking her entire body, bouncing her body off of his, his hands and arms preventing her complete retreat.

Her orgasm started and she screamed words of desire in a higher voice while her body clamped down on him so hard that he knew he wouldn't be able to move if not for the abundant wetness her body had produced in response to him. He lifted one last time, his entire body growing perfectly rigid as his orgasm was no longer preventable. He held still, strong and unyielding, as he called out his release.

When his hips sank back down onto the ground, his arms wrapped around her, and he held her close. "I don't wanna go."

"So don't go," she panted as her fingers traced along his neck.


	4. Snooping

_A/N-Thanks to all who follow, favorite, enjoy, and the reviewers: IHeartHouseCuddy, ikissedtheLaurie, f, IWuvHouse, lenasti16, JLCH, Josam, jaybe61, Hot, Truth, LapizSilkwood, jkarr, Suzieqlondon, Hlfan, Abby, grouchysnarky, givemekevinbacon, HuddyGirl, Huddyphoric, dmarchl21, Alex, BJAllen815, LiaHuddy and Guests._

_I'm not planning on making this flow into the actual show. I write these little "off-shoot" stories because, sometimes, denial is a very pleasant place to be, and I write them to imagine something different. If I make it lead into the show…then the ending's the same. This will still be short, but perhaps a few extra chapters. I have some thoughts about a sequel, if I can come up with something that I think may be interesting, I'll post that too. Thank you so much to those who want to read more, that's very exciting to hear. I know my update schedule's been a bit off, I'm trying to stick with posting something every 2-3 days.  
_

* * *

-Snooping-

After their tryst in the bathroom, House and Cuddy made it approximately four feet beyond the bathroom door before they were teasing and groping and having sex on the carpet a few feet away from her bed, eventually moving to a place against the bed, but never really making it in the bed. They saw the sunrise peeking through the edges of the blinds when they were done.

Cuddy woke several hours later, realizing that, at some point, he put her in bed. She smiled when she heard her shower running. Although he wasn't in her bed, he was still in her apartment. Her hand was sore from the cut but she felt good. She was waking up at noon, something she hadn't done in years, naked and pleasantly achy. Out of all of the people in the universe that she could come across, the guy who was in her shower was possibly the last person she ever expected to see again, and definitely one of the most intriguing men she'd ever met.

He came out of the bathroom minutes later, wearing her robe with a towel wound around his head. "Morning," he said as he waved at her, standing by the bed and tossing the damp towel from his head onto the floor.

He had her short robe tied around him. It was short on her, but on him, it covered nothing that he would want to have covered, if someone were to visit.

"You're an idiot," she laughed.

"This is nice...this soft girl stuff," he said as he sat on the chair facing her.

"It'll save me time the next time I want easy access."

"Exactly," he nodded, hands out to the side. "That's why I did this…it's all for you."

"You know how to treat a lady. You gonna wear that all day?"

"This, maybe less, we'll see. Depends on what you have planned."

"What time do you have to leave?" she asked.

"Whenever you want me to go," he shrugged a bit defensively, "it's your place."

"I don't want you to go. I just want to know how long I have you."

"You're the one with plans, Cuddy, not me."

"You showed up last minute and expected me to change my plans, which I did!" she said, sitting up in bed, making no attempts to cover her naked body.

"Geez, sorry I messed up your weekend," he replied sarcastically.

"You didn't. I have to call my friend…and tell her why I'm not going to be around. I thought maybe…I'd try to exercise my option for tomorrow. I wanted to know if you were going to be around, because if not, I'll go see my friend," she said, already exasperated.

"You want Sunday?" he said, more confused than vexed.

"Yea"

"You can't exercise the option now."

"Fine, you could have just said that. No one's forcing you to stay here," she answered, standing, looking sad as she moved toward the bathroom. "I'm going to get a shower and hope that you don't completely misinterpret something else I said, or didn't say, and decide that your best course of action is to leave."

He reached out and grabbed her wrist when she tried to walk past and he pulled her into his lap. "You can't exercise the option because we already slept together. You can't call it 'the option' since you couldn't keep your hands off me a few hours ago. A technicality, but if you want me to stay, you're going to have to ask."

"No games. I want a straight answer. Do you want to stay for the rest of the weekend or not?"

"If I stay, can I keep wearing your robe?"

She stared at him silently, eyes open wide, lips resolutely tight as she expected an answer without jokes or deflection of any kind.

"You still think I'm leaving?" he asked.

She shrugged, standing up from his lap. "I should be happy you're here now. I guess that's how this works."

Cuddy took two steps toward the bathroom, and House stated firmly but simply, "I want to stay."

By the time she turned around, he was next to her, stepping her backwards toward the wall outside of the bathroom. He braced his hands against the wall on either side of her head and held her gaze for just a moment. That moment made her heart stutter, but she understood its greater purpose: he was seeking her consent.

It was all about subtleties with him. He could be loud and crude, seemingly uncaring and crass, but the really significant moments with him were those quiet ones in between the loud, crass ones. The way he held her gaze, the way he bandaged her arm and watched her intently while they were on their date, these acts seemed telling of the man hidden beneath the surface.

She barely had time to react, because as soon as he had established that he was allowed to be so near her, he was kissing her, and she reacted automatically and with equal intensity, like they'd been making out for years and this was nothing out of the ordinary. But the kiss itself was anything but ordinary. There were dreams of kisses that were seething and soul-penetrating, ones that could drive a person to rip their clothes from their bodies and engage in acts of wanton behavior, but kisses like that weren't stored in her personal recollections from any other partner.

Nothing felt at all odd about the way that he had her forced up against the wall so tightly that her tiptoes touched the ground, but there was no weight on them. The way he attacked her neck, forcing not so subtle moans from her mouth, and the way his hands seemed to be touching her waist, hips, breasts and ass at the same time didn't seem strange either. When his hands drifted down to the backs of her thighs and lifted her just enough to force their bodies closer together, she thought fleetingly that even though it didn't seem out of the ordinary, it was, and she definitely wanted something like this in her life.

He was right. She wanted disorder, excitement, friction. Most of all, she wanted passion. She was energetic, fiery and intense, and often her enthusiasm was met with mediocre or lackluster responses in both her professional and personal lives. It felt good to be thrown against a wall and touched like she was someone who deserved to be touched. The reality beyond the fact that he had her pinned against the wall, passionately making his case, was that he was someone who overcame distances of both time and geography to find her. It felt good to be so wanted.

Dropping her feet gently down on the ground while still kissing her, he pushed the robe that he had been partially wearing off of his shoulders, grabbing a condom from the pocket before flinging the robe across the room. "Is that why you were wearing that, you needed a pocket?" she giggled, while he continued, acting upon her body in ways she hoped he'd employ every time they had sex.

He was almost fierce, not as tentative as he had been during their first encounter the night before, or as tired as he'd been during their second encounter shortly thereafter. She was the one who inspired such urgent need, and it was as if he wanted her to understand that. He was against her, pressing her frame between him and the wall, and listening to her soft cries for him to continue, but he said nothing at all.

She smiled when his hands went to her sex. She tipped her head back and waited for him to touch her, but all he did was move his finger in one pass along her slit and his hands were gone. She groaned her displeasure, but nothing changed his pace or direction. He lifted her thighs, still keeping her between him and the wall. His lips moved to hers, and the kiss slowed and became more affectionate for a moment in a way that was thrilling and confusing for her. She felt him pressing at her entrance, felt his gaze look to her one more time for a few seconds to confirm her agreement, and then he groaned as he pushed inside her.

Breathing in sharply, her uninjured hand grasped at the back of his neck, her sore one momentarily resting against his chest, she pushed against the wall with her back while she hooked her ankles behind him. He began to move with long, smooth approaches and retreats, savoring each centimeter of feeling, but when he felt she was ready, he instructed, "Wait for me," and then allowed the fullness of his passionate side to take possession of her without hesitation.

Given the angles of their bodies and the degree to which gravity pushed her against him, there was a steady pressure and friction that felt like it would make waiting for a long time quite difficult. There was something mind-numbingly pleasant about the feeling that she was completely out of control, and yet wasn't worried about the need to regain that control.

Her phone began to ring, something she noticed, but barely, until the answering machine picked up and she could hear her friend's voice loudly accusing Cuddy of sneaking off to work. Cuddy reached down to the table next to them where the answering machine sat and House stopped moving. He asked, with a look of wounded horror, "You're gonna answer that?"

Her finger reached down and turned off the answering machine before wrapping her arm back around his neck. "Not a chance in hell. No matter who's on the other end of that call," she said as she nudged against his face with her nose sweetly and then leaned her head back against the wall to look at him. "I didn't want you getting distracted."

He grinned momentarily, his eyes moving around her face, and said softly, "Nothing could distract me from this."

She smiled back at him and then they were lost in each other once again. The emotional connection between the two of them was beneath the surface, each mindful even in their moment of passion not to bare too much of their souls, because whatever was going on between them was far too personal to take lightly.

When her moans became more impassioned, he warned, "Wait, Cuddy," and he watched her head go back against the wall and saw a depth of frustration that he didn't expect.

The strange thing was, he had always thought he was good in bed, probably even great, and he definitely didn't worry about partner dissatisfaction, but he didn't think he was anywhere near as good as what she seemed to think he was. There was something about the passion between them, he wasn't sure if it was attraction, pheromones, the way that she openly embraced sex, or the fact that she was so intense that it seemed to bring out something completely different in him, but for some reason, the two of them together were physically perfect. He wanted her to be so satisfied that she would want no one else, because being with her made him feel alive. She made him feel like he was, somehow, something more.

Seeing her attempt to hold off orgasm was absolutely erotic in itself. The fact that he could be part of that, make her feel the way she was feeling, was one of the best sensations in the world. Her expression, a mix of arousal, excitement and frustration was too much. She growled lowly, "Fuck, I'm sorry…I can't." And she couldn't.

She truly couldn't wait any longer. Her will capitulated to the sensations brought about by his attention. He felt a surge, a thrill that was both raw and amorous at the same time, and his will was as done as hers.

Moments later, when they were both relaxing on her bed, she rolled and looked at him, "So you want to stay, do ya?"

"Oh yea," he nodded, smirking lazily with his eyes closed.

"Good," she answered. "I want you to stay.

"Who in the hell was calling you? That voice of interruption?" House asked, lifting his head.

"It was my friend. The one I was supposed to go see," Cuddy said as she walked over and turned the answering machine back on to play the message.

"So that wasn't a lie?"

"No, dumbass, it wasn't a lie. Why would I lie about that?"

"I figured either it was a guy you were supposed to see this weekend, or you made it up as a way to blow me off."

"Because of the extensive history of me lying to you? I've never lied to you."

"Only because you haven't been given the chance."

"I'm gonna get a shower now. I'll call her back when I'm done. Can you make coffee?"

"What is this coffee? Is it the strange, black liquid I buy in the mornings that is clearly made by giants of the culinary and mixology worlds joining forces to make one perfect beverage. Is this similar to coff…fee?"

"Grounds and filters are in the cabinet above the coffee pot," she offered.

"You didn't say 'please.'"

She shook her head and smirked, "Just make the damn coffee."

* * *

House made coffee and did some snooping, nothing too invasive. Her apartment was comfortable, but rather impersonal. He wasn't sure if it was because she didn't plan on staying there long, or if it was because she didn't have many things after years of living in dorms and small off-campus apartments, forced to move around frequently. There were a few pictures in frames on a table by the door, family photos and group shots with friends. He lifted an earlier photo and looked at it, considering her strange combination of personality traits, driven studiousness and carefree exuberance, that vied for dominance of her.

He found the touristy tee shirt and boxers he bought at the store the night before and put them on while he tried to figure out the remaining mysteries about the woman he desperately wanted to know better.

After the water shut off, the phone rang again and Cuddy went to the door and shoved her hand out, "Can I have the phone…please?"

"What's it worth to you?"

"Please?" she asked, peeking out.

He shrugged, so she opened the door so he could see her standing there naked. "Apparently it's worth a lot to you," he leered, before grabbing the phone and handing it to her.

Just as Cuddy answered, closing the door to the bathroom behind her, the answering machine picked up. House looked up, realizing that he probably should hit the button to turn it off, but he didn't, he turned it down so she wouldn't hear it and he intently listened.

"I swear, if you were at that hospital," Megan could be heard saying over the answering machine.

"I wasn't. You are so paranoid," Cuddy replied.

"Why didn't you answer?"

"I was…busy."

"Giving homeless children vaccines?"

"I was here," Cuddy answered matter-of-factly. "I wasn't at the hospital."

"What's going on?"

"I told you, I had a date. With a guy, not at the hospital."

"Really?"

"Yes"

"Like a real guy?"

"No, one I built from spare parts in the morgue."

"Funny," Megan said dryly. "Why are you whispering?"

"Because he's here…at my apartment. Anything else you need to know?"

"Did ya sleep with him?"

"Is that relevant?"

"It is. Especially if he was good."

"He's…amazing. Really, really amazing. Best ever amazing."

"Really?"

"Yes, which is why I'm resenting you right now…because I could be having sex with him instead of talking to you about having sex with him!"

House felt a slight sinking in his chest that there was the possibility that, even though he was interested in more than sex, perhaps she wasn't. He spent so much time trying to convince her that he was there to show his genuine interest, but he wasn't sure where she stood.

"Best ever amazing? Same words you said about that asshole our freshman year. That's what you always said…'No matter what, he was best ever amazing.'"

Cuddy was silent for a moment.

"Lisa?" Megan asked. "You OK?"

"I'm fine."

"Why are you quiet?"

"I'm not."

"You aren't screwing that guy from college are you?"

"Screwing?"

"Are you sleeping with the guy you sulked over for two weeks?"

"I did not sulk. I told you, I knew it was a fling."

"You said that, yea. But no matter what you _said_, you still sulked. You had a big-ass case of puppy love for that dickhead."

"I did not"

"You did. I remember because he was the only guy you ever got that pouty over. Best Ever Amazing guy."

"You're manufacturing details."

"No, I'm not. If you let him use you that's your mistake. You know…fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me. You remember that saying, right? If he plays you, you are the fool. But I guess if the sex is that great, enjoy it while it lasts. As long as you know what it is this time then I guess you're OK."

"He took me out. On a date. A nice one," Cuddy replied.

"Honey, you're worth a date. I'm sure he remembers that."

"I instigated the sex."

"Or he made you think that. I just don't want you to get hurt again. He got to you. Maybe you know better now. Anyway, finish your fling with the guy. We can still go out tonight."

"Actually, I'm gonna spend the weekend with him."

"You like him, Lisa. I can hear it."

Cuddy was silent again, House could almost hear her sigh.

"Give me the weekend to figure stuff out. OK?" Cuddy said. "I know you care, but I think he's gonna stay until I go back to work. I have Monday off. If it's just a game, if he's playing me, then that's life. I have to do this. It's important enough to see through no matter how it ends. I need to try. He did a lot to get here. If it was just for sex, he sure as hell put a lot of effort into it."

"If you're gonna ditch me, at least have fun," Megan said, sounding concerned.

"I will, thanks," Cuddy replied, and then the bathroom door opened, and she looked at House, sitting on the floor next to the answering machine, and looked at the answering machine blinking while it recorded. "See ya, Megan," Cuddy said softly as she clicked off the phone. "I thought I heard a slight echo when I got near the door."

House stared forward.

"You eavesdropped on my call?" Cuddy asked angrily.

"I wanted to know."

"And you were willing to snoop on my call to know…to know what?"

"I didn't make it record, it picked up on its own. I was opportunistic. I needed to know how you felt. About…this."

"I told you I wanted to see it through," she spat. "Isn't that what we agreed on? That we'd try. That we'd see it through?"

"Yes"

"You could have just asked me instead of assuming I'm sitting around lying about it," Cuddy walked over to her dresser, grabbing a tee shirt and panties and quickly putting them on. "You have serious trust issues when you were the only one who lied. If there was a reason or not, you lied. Not me."

She stormed back into the bathroom, drying herself off and attempting to dry her hair. He appeared in the doorway, his body blocking the entrance. "Do you want me to go?"

"I want you to try treating me like you don't think everything I say is a fucking lie. That's what I want."

"I'll try."

"Will you?"

"I will try. I don't know…how well it will work out. But I will try."

She pushed past him, roughly, returning to her room to search through drawers. "You said you weren't hurt…that was a lie," he observed casually.

She shut the drawer to her dresser and stood there. "I knew it was a fling. I'm not that naïve."

"I'm sorry I hurt you," he said sincerely.

"I _knew_ it was a fling," she repeated. "I was fine with that."

"So you keep telling me. Sounds like you were hurt. I didn't want to hurt you."

"It doesn't matter. I knew when I went back to your apartment that it was a hookup. Life goes on."

"I think at that point, you did think it was just a hookup. But the truth is that in the morning, you believed everything that I sad. You believed me when I told you I liked you and I wanted to see you again."

"Yea," Cuddy shrugged, "I was that dumb, that naïve. Trust me, everyone reminded me of that."

"But you weren't. You weren't dumb or naïve. I meant what I said."

"It taught me a lot, House. Better to learn from you than some guy down the line who might have really wanted to hurt me."

"I wasn't trying to teach you a lesson."

"What do you want from me?" Cuddy said. "You said you want to see this through, fine. I want that too, but now you're here trying to get me to do…what? Right now. What do you want?"

"I want you to tell me how you felt when I didn't call."

She tapped the top of the dresser. "Fine, I was hurt. Is that what you want? I was fine with things being a fling, but after the way you acted, I thought maybe you had feelings for me. You sold me. And as soon as you convinced me…you were gone. I fell for it."

"I wasn't trying to trick you."

"Then why are you pushing me now? You want to put another tick in your chart that shows the girls you got to feel something for you?"

"That chart would be remarkably un-filled."

"Then why?"

House stood silently, it wasn't clear if he was thinking or disconnected.

"So you want to dig into me but you won't let me dig into you," Cuddy said.

"All these years, I thought it meant something to you, and then at the clinic, you said it didn't. You said it didn't matter…it was just a fling."

"So, what, I hurt your feelings by telling you that something didn't matter after you already _acted_ like didn't matter?"

"I dunno," he shrugged.

"Seriously?" she asked, clearly surprised.

"Yea. When you said in the clinic that it didn't matter, about…letting me down easy, I thought maybe I _was_ the only one who thought it was…you know."

"No, I don't know. You're gonna have to tell me."

"I thought it was…I don't know…something. What do you want me to say?" he asked, now returning her anger.

"I want you to say the truth, and I don't want to have to be the one to expose every damn feeling I have and have to yank each one out of you."

"This…is me."

"OK, just answer a question then. Did it mean something to you, really? Yes or no?"

"Yea," he nodded, avoiding her gaze.

"Why not show up at the clinic and say something like, 'Hey, I thought we had a connection and I wish it would have worked out, can I try again?'"

"I _showed_ you that. Why do I have to say it?"

"Because it would have meant something to me to hear."

"I showed up. I took the risk to show up. It was hard enough to convince you to go on a damn date. And then you want me to stand there and tell you my damn feelings so that I could listen to you tell me that it didn't matter. That you were…happy to get rid of me? How does that help?"

"I wasn't happy to get rid of you," she sighed. "You know, people, friends of mine, saw us leave that party together. Everyone knew who you were. Do you have any idea how many times I heard jokes about me being responsible for your disappearance? You didn't just disappear from me, you practically dropped off the face of the earth. Jokes about me being a black widow or that, maybe I got too clingy and scared you off. So not only did I not hear from you, but I had the privilege of being asked about you for what felt like forever. Nothing like being reminded of how stupid I was."

"I didn't know that."

"Of course you didn't. You were gone. You want honesty? It fucking hurt. It hurt because I thought you liked me. And it hurt my pride that I was wrong. It made me feel stupid and naïve for trusting you. And, in all honesty, I think it has made me distrust every man since at least a little. Not because we had sex, because of the words the next day, and the fact that I believed them. Because I trusted you and you broke that trust."

"You should have believed them…the words."

"I tried to play it off. And I think I tried to convince myself that I didn't feel stupid or hurt. And then you showed up. And I keep waiting for you to stand up and say, 'Gotcha, moron. You fell for it again, thanks for being something warm for me to screw for the weekend.'"

He looked shocked, his eyes wide, mouth open. "I…have never thought about you like that," he finally choked out. "You're interesting, I want to know you. I want to touch you…because I like you, not just to get off." He moved closer, slowly, "Did I treat you like something warm to screw when I took you out last night?"

"No, I enjoyed it. You were sweet."

He moved closer, "When I shared music with you and when I was listening to you arguing with me and hanging off of every single opinionated word…did you think I was just doing that to get you naked?"

"I didn't."

He moved even closer, back in her space. It was starting to feel like he was always in her space. "Do you feel demeaned when I touch you?" he asked, picking up her hand.

"No," she said, looking away. "I don't."

"When I kiss you?" he asked as his hand held her face, his thumb softly slipping over her lips, "Does that make you feel…taken advantage of?"

"Of course not," she said, shifting away.

He grabbed her arms, held her in front of him until he thought she would stay. "When I make you come," he said, his hands gently finding her hips, "Do you feel like I'm selfishly using you?"

She was swallowing hard, her breath shaky and shallow as she shook her head no, "I don't."

His breath was as shallow and uncertain as hers, "Do you really think…that I think you're just something warm to fuck? Is that how it feels when I'm inside you?"

"No, it doesn't feel like that."

"Maybe that's how you see me then. Is that how you see me? Like something warm to fuck?"

"Not at all," she said sternly. "Do I make you feel that way?"

He shook his head. "Never. Not even the first time…back when you wanted me to think that it meant nothing."

She looked up, each attempting to look confident and self-assured, and each looking more vulnerable the harder they tried.

"I want…what I think I see here…to be what's real," she replied.

"Hey, you might be playing me. Getting revenge."

"But I'm not," she shook her head.

"Neither am I," he responded. "What you see is what's real. You said that I should just ask you. But you're terrified to give a real answer to half of the questions that matter."

"So are you"

"If you hang around me, I'll do some shitty things. I'll listen in on your phone calls. I'll try to figure out every single secret you try to keep from me, and I'll probably embarrass you…and there will be times when I'm really going to piss you off. But I will never use you like that."

Cuddy nodded, cleared her throat and responded, "I'll do some shitty things. Sometimes work will come first for me…sometimes I'll resist relaxing and having fun because I'm trying to fix…everything. And there will definitely be times when I'm really going to piss you off. But I will never…I have never…used you like that."

"If I wanted mindless sex, I'd be somewhere having mindless sex. I certainly wouldn't have wasted any thought on a date. And I wouldn't be here now. I would have left hours ago. I never would have worn that robe."

She actually chuckled a bit, and it made him smile.

"I didn't want to hurt you. I wanted to protect you," he muttered.

"I know," she nodded, "I believe that. I do. Let's move beyond that. If I can't trust that, then everything else is built on something that I think is a lie."

"That leaves us open to fighting about new things."

"I'd hate for fights to get stale," she teased.

He kissed her, an attempt at a show of appreciation and affection, but it seemed like shows of affection between them turned to more very easily.

"Cuddy," he put his hands up, "I need to eat. My body will cease to function."

"Hungry?"

"More like depleted"

"Food, huh? You are so needy," she teased.

"It's the least you can do for the best you've ever had. And, by the way…I told you I was your best…"

She smirked at him, took his hand, and led him to the kitchen, "That you did."

They sat at her little kitchen table, the one covered in folded up, disregarded newspapers, and shared their first breakfast together in the middle of the afternoon.


	5. Expectations

_A/N-Thanks everyone who is reading and to the reviewers for this chapter-IHeartHouseCuddy, lenasti16, newsession, jaybe61, ikissedtheLaurie, LoveMyHouse, Josam, ammeboss, JLCH, Truth, dmarchl21, chebelle, Guest, Suzieqlondon, Abby, BJAllen815, HuddyGirl, Alex, ClareBear14 and LapizSilkwood._

_I'm having a lot of fun in this unlikely little pre-series world. Preservation should be up Monday/Tuesday for anyone reading that one._

* * *

-Expectations-

As fun as it would have been to wander around Cuddy's apartment only partially clothed, the old building was cold and drafty when the weather was so bitter. Cuddy found an over-sized sweatshirt and pants that sort of covered House, although the arms and legs of the respective garments were too short.

After their mid-day breakfast, Cuddy asked House where he grew up, which lead to a very brief discussion about the fact that he lived many places on bases around the world. Cuddy was fascinated by the experiences he must have had, and asked about the culture and quality of life in the different places he had called home. House began to tell her about the worst places he had ever lived, when he stopped abruptly, and began looking around her apartment, clearly in search of something.

"What's wrong?" she asked, watching him with both worry and amusement as he hunted for what he was looking for.

"My god, Cuddy, the conditions here are completely inhumane," he said as he returned to his spot by the table. "How do you live like this?"

"Like what?"

"You don't have a TV?"

"Oh, yea, I do. I just don't have much time for it, and this place isn't that big, so why waste the space? I don't leave it out."

"Everyone has time for TV."

"I get it out if I want to rent a movie. You seem to have survived alright without it since you arrived," she countered.

"Only because you've kept me entertained. Where is it?"

Cuddy went to her closet, back into the deepest part behind her clothes, and pointed to a small TV-VCR combo unit, "There. See? I have one."

"So Saturday night, you don't sit naked on your sofa with a tumbler of scotch, cigar hanging out of your mouth, watching wrestling and flicking the bean while you wait for your pizza delivery?"

"Flicking the bean? How poetic." Cuddy winced as she reflected on the scenario, "Do _you_ masturbate to wrestling?"

"To it? No, but it seemed like something you would do."

She laughed throatily, "One or two of those things I don't do under any circumstance, and I certainly don't do all of them concurrently."

"What do you actually do for fun?"

"I've had plenty of fun so far this weekend."

"Before this weekend. Before your life was enhanced by the return of me. This pathetic old TV looks like it doesn't get much action."

"I work. I run. I work. I read. I work. Until very recently, I was studying pretty much every moment I wasn't in school. Oh, yea, and I work."

"You really do need me," he nodded.

"I won't argue that," she said, looking him over in the same way he seemed to like looking over her.

"For more than that," he said, attempting to sound critical, although his leer made him seem disingenuous. "You need me to make sure you don't throw away everything in your quest to create a utopian hospital. You do that, and the masses will benefit and you'll be left standing there…benefitting the masses but getting nothing for yourself."

"I'm off this weekend. I went out with you. I'm having ridiculous amounts of amazing sex, having good conversation and eating delicious food. I know how to have fun. You seem to be having fun."

"Have you noticed that most of the things you've cited as evidence of your ability to have fun involve this weekend with me? I didn't realize when I showed up that I was actually doing an intervention to protect you from a life of lameness."

"Thanks," she answered dryly.

* * *

Cuddy prepped their meal for later. Cooking was a hobby and a talent that she seldom had the time to enjoy. While she began dinner, House set up her TV and searched through the few movies she had on hand while looking through the things in the back of her closet. When she walked over to investigate his silence, she found him on the floor with the contents of a few of the boxes from the back of the closet spread out around him. "Just because you tell me you're going to snoop through my things doesn't mean it's OK to do whenever you please," Cuddy said as she dried her hands on a towel and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Are these your parents?" he asked as he looked through some loose pictures from a small box.

Cuddy looked at the picture in his hand, "Yup. My little sister's high school graduation."

"Who's the guy?"

"My sister's boyfriend. Are you jealous?"

"No, just curious. If that was my competition, I wouldn't be jealous. I would be feeling really secure."

Cuddy laughed as she removed the bandage from her hand to assess her wound. "She's getting married soon, my sister. Not to the guy in that picture…but to the guy she met right after him."

"Who's your date for the wedding?"

"Haven't figured that out yet. I was thinking about going stag, I'm her maid of honor so I'll be busy. I don't think anyone will notice."

"Do you have aunts and cousins…or does your mother have friends?" he asked.

"Yea," she answered hesitantly.

"They _will_ notice because they'll all be looking to see what the career driven, unmarried, older sister is up to. Maybe in the hopes of fixing you up. So they'll all start asking questions and hypothesizing about the status of your love life."

"My mother spent years trying to ensure that I was never alone with a guy. They were all worried I was too interested in boys."

"You've crossed the threshold…you're getting old, practically a spinster. Have to start considering that."

"I'm hardly a spinster. I haven't even decided if I want all of that yet, I have a career to establish, things to do. I don't even want to consider a family until I'm at least thirty-two. Besides, she has Julia. She'll have the perfect wedding and grandchildren so she won't complain."

House stared at her, wide-eyed, "You don't really think that, do you?"

"I'm a fucking doctor…I should be able to ride that accomplishment for a while, don't you think?"

"I personally think so. I'm just telling you what will happen. Particularly when you're successful, it just makes people expect more."

"Why do you care what people think? I thought you were one of the few people who truly didn't care what anyone else thought."

"I don't care…but I think you do."

"What about you…your parents and aunts? Don't they think it's time for you to find a wife and carry on the family name?"

"My mother's probably happy for every day when my name doesn't appear in the police log. I think she's pretty shocked that I actually graduated."

"Must be nice," Cuddy said with a nod.

"To be a screw-up? Yea, it works for me…it's a thing."

"You aren't a screw-up."

"I am…a huge screw-up. It has really lowered other people's expectations…that…and I really don't care about anyone else's expectations."

"Does this make you my bad-boy experiment?"

"I really hope so."

Cuddy smiled, pausing for a second to absorb the strange way that he flirted, "Shouldn't you be in a motorcycle gang or have tattoos, a nose ring and a rap sheet?"

"I am in a motorcycle gang."

"Huh?"

"Well…I have a motorcycle. We could start a gang."

"I don't have a motorcycle," she answered.

"That's OK. I don't really have a gang. If you join up, you could ride with me or get your own, then you'd have a motorcycle, and I'd have a gang. We could work together to attain mutual satisfaction."

"I'm not committing acts of violence or riding around in a leather thong. If you can live with that…I'm in."

"Just so I'm sure we are perfectly clear, I will also not wear a leather thong. And I'm not going to ride the countryside curing the sick."

"OK," she laughed openly.

"If you want…our gang could crash your sister's wedding."

"Do you want to go with me?" she asked tentatively. "Is this your way of offering?"

"I am the worst choice for a date to a wedding."

"OK," she said, trying not to appear deflated while moving on from the subject as quickly as possible.

"But, if you're willing to accept such a poor choice…I would go with you."

"Would you really?"

"It would be fun to see if you can make one of those dresses look good…it would also be fun to tease you if it's really hideous. Also…I get to find out tons of embarrassing shit about you."

"If we're still talking in two months when she gets married, I would like that…if you came with me. Less fond of the making fun of me part. I also don't know if you are ready for my family. I'm still not ready for them and I grew up with them."

"Oh please, I can handle your family," House answered. "Just for reference, when I'm gone next week, job-hunting, how many guys will be waiting on your doorstep, hoping for a chance to escort you to that wedding?"

"I'm not buying it…you can't possibly be worried about that. Is this an attempt at discussing our status by disguising it as territorial behavior?"

"Of course not," he answered too quickly.

"OK, fine. If you just want to know how many guys are interested in me…I certainly don't have time to name names…there are…dozens, maybe even _hundreds_ of guys," she said with phony confidence. "I thought about ditching the whole residency thing just to have enough time to date them all."

House nodded while he looked through a box of her things, ignoring her sarcasm.

She watched him, confused by his random bouts of insecurity that seemed both completely misplaced and perfect innate at the same time. His insecurity seemed to make him human, a side of him that most people she knew at Michigan never saw, and then she wanted nothing more than to destroy any vestiges of uncertainty in his mind. "I'm not interested in seeing anyone else right now," she blurted out, suddenly looking insecure herself. "If you want to, that's fine, we've only been out on one date…well…if we count today…two dates, so I don't have any expectations. I'm not going to date anyone else right now. I don't have the time…or the desire. Why…complicate things?"

House nodded, still looking through a stack of pictures from the small box in front of him.

"Are you…going to keep seeing other people?" Cuddy asked in a horribly failed attempt at nonchalance.

He shook his head, barely looking up from his investigation into her life, "Why would I do something stupid like that?"

Cuddy sat there, watching him looking through her history. He held up a picture of a young Cuddy in a formal gown, obviously taken before a school dance. "You trying to tell me this guy isn't competition?" he asked, trying to suppress a laugh.

She giggled, "Well, him? Yea, _he's_ competition. He was my almost boyfriend. Quite the stud wasn't he?"

"Did you sleep with him?" House asked with a smirk.

"No, I didn't sleep with him."

"After he bought you that gorgeous flower thingie for your dress? Prude."

"It's easy to see why you'd think I'm a prude after this weekend. It wasn't for lack of trying. He had…control issues."

"Poor guy. Had no idea what he was missing."

Cuddy blushed and tried to play it off like a scoff.

"Hopefully he was still a gentleman and made sure you were well taken care of," House stated absently while his hands continued to rifle. When she didn't answer he looked up. "Cuddy?"

"I think his goal was less about mutual satisfaction and more about losing his virginity. We snuck away from our friends for that big, post-prom moment, things didn't go as well as planned. He was so embarrassed, so we went to a party, and he drank so much we probably couldn't have tried again if we wanted to. That was that. Then he went around bragging to everyone that we did it. Loser. And they say high school's supposed to be the time of your life."

"Which is another reason you need me, to right the wrongs of all of these…substandard idiots who would allow you to be anything less than entirely satisfied."

"I feel you're already on pace," she smiled before she looked at her newly unwrapped hand.

He dropped the small box of personal items that was on his lap back on the floor, slid along the carpet to the space in front of where she sat, and motioned for her to give him her hand.

"You do nice work," she said, looking at her hand and catching him before he was able to make a clever retort. "I meant stitching up my hand, but I'm reasonably sure I know what you were going to say…and if I'm right, then yes…nice work there too."

He grinned at her, but she was preoccupied by the way his thumb gently pressed against her palm, moving against the skin.

"No signs of infection so far. Feel OK?" he asked, while his fingers moved down the soft skin under her arm.

"Yea, I feel…great. Better than I have for a while."

"Good"

"Since we're…sort of having the discussion about where we stand…"

"We are?" he griped in a way that she didn't believe.

"Are there any…health concerns I should be aware of?"

"You examined me…you were the one who said I'm in great health," House answered. "But I'm guessing you mean STD's?"

"Yes," she nodded with complete solemnity.

"Clean as a virgin"

"Hard to imagine the use of the word _virgin _in relation to you," she teased. "I am-"

"Also as clean as a virgin," he interrupted. "I know."

"You know that too? You what? Checked out my medical files? My god!"

"I was looking for your address," he answered simply.

"And you found my address in my medical file instead of my personnel file…and it was wedged in between printouts of my test results?"

"While I was down there…in your file. I was able to lie my way into seeing your medical file…I didn't need to wiggle my way into your personnel file."

Cuddy covered her face, shaking her head and speaking through her hands, "Is there anything else you already know about me that I should know that you already know about me?"

"No"

"From now on, could you please just…ask about whatever you want to know?"

"I was looking for your address…which means you weren't there to ask. You don't honestly think I would have gone down on you if I wasn't sure of that…do you?"

"I thought…that you trusted me enough to warn you if there was any chance of a problem."

"I do now"

"Now that you already know the answer, you trust me? Essentially you have faith in something that you already have proof of?" Cuddy asked.

"Sounds right. By the way, sucks about that fractured fibula, must have hurt like a bitch."

"I feel…violated and flattered at the same time. More violated than flattered," she answered.

"I'd go with flattered. Lots of doctors read your files, you don't get mad at them, do you?"

"You aren't _my_ doctor."

"I was last night when I was fixing your hand."

"Do you want me to read _your_ files? Know _your_ entire medical history."

"Sure," he shrugged.

"OK. What about more personal? You want me to look through your apartment?"

"Go ahead," he nodded.

"That's easy to say…while you're here in my apartment and it's all theoretical."

"I'll personally take you to see my medical files. I don't care if you want to look through my apartment. I have nothing to hide."

"OK, let's go," she pressed, waiting for him to cave.

"You want to go _now_?"

"I want to see your apartment…and your files. I want as much access to your life and history as you've had to mine."

"What about the flurries?" he asked, aghast. "Travel seems risky in these dangerous conditions."

"Ass," she countered. "See…it's different when you're the one under the microscope, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. You can feel free to scour my things…and my files. After dinner, we'll go."

"My shift starts at five on Tuesday morning."

"I'll have you back safe and sound by Tuesday morning."

"Seriously?"

"Yea. You'll be disappointed. I don't have much to look at. What people think is true about me is much more interesting than what is actually true about me."

"Do you think that I'm a moron if I trust what you _say_ about your about your status? If I believe you are disease-free based on your words instead of actual test results?" she questioned.

"I'm not asking you to trust me about that. But you wouldn't be a moron if you did. As far as diseases...I am careful…one hundred percent of the time. Literally."

"Literally?"

"Yes. I am _always_ careful, which is why I never have a problem."

"Last time I had tests run was almost a year ago."

"Seven months," he corrected.

"Thanks…I'm glad you were paying attention. But, it's theoretically possible to have contracted something since then."

"Of course it is. But, I know how careful you were before, and how careful you are now…it's also sort of clear that you don't have much of a life…and I saw that you've never had anything, so it was a safe assumption."

"But not one-hundred percent safe"

"The remaining percentage points of question…were covered by the fact," House sighed, hesitated, wondered if he should make his thoughts so apparent, "that I believed that you would have stopped me if there was any chance that there could be a problem."

Cuddy smiled, "I would have."

"Which is why the people you trust are the ones that get you…because your guard is down. But, I've already ignored my own advice for dealing with women a few times with you. Why not once more?"

"What advice?"

"I don't beg for dates. Ever."

"You were hardly begging," she replied.

"I went…way out of my way to come find you. And usually I ask once…and then I'm done."

"That wasn't begging, that was persistence. I find persistence very sexy. Plus…I wasn't exactly sending out an honest 'no' vibe. You took me off guard but I'm sure you could see that I wasn't entirely opposed to going out with you. What else are you doing differently with me?"

He smirked, a hint of proud embarrassment showing through. "I'm making this too easy for you. You need to figure out this stuff on your own, you know, stop asking so many questions and snoop a little…it shows you care."

* * *

Later that evening, they were disinterestedly watching a movie on her tiny TV while dinner baked, intermittently napping and talking as they lay together on the sofa. House's hand casually ran along Cuddy's back and arm, moving around her body in a way that was casually familiar. Neither of them could be seen as innocent, but neither was used to relationship-like behavior either. It was simultaneously exciting and disconcerting as they tested each touch to see if the other accepted it before continuing, feeling more confident in sex than during the moments in between encounters when boundaries felt less clear.

They were each in a haze of tiredness and strange feelings that left them a bit quiet and contemplative. After nearly an hour, House's patient hand began to become somewhat impatient, and was venturing increasingly down her back and onto her butt. His progressively bold hand was soon actually caressing her ass cheek fully instead of skimming over it, and soon he was grasping the fullness of her flesh underneath his fingers and subtly pulling her body toward his.

She moaned the tiniest approval before hesitating. "We're going to get distracted again. If you want to finish the movie you should stop that," Cuddy said, softly chuckling.

"What movie?"

Cuddy moved down the sofa, just out of his reach, which he took for a sign that she wanted to finish the movie and that he should stop, so he rested his hand on his ribs while he continued to barely watch the movie. Then he felt her hands resting against him, one on each of his thighs as her face nudged at the crotch of his sweatpants. She breathed out slowly while her mouth opened to surround his sex and he exhaled sharply, a whimper slipping through involuntarily, almost unnoticeably. He lifted his hand from his body, resting the back of it against the rise of the sofa while he looked at her somewhat stunned.

She pulled down the sweatpants as he lifted a bit, and then her lips returned to the ridge in his boxers. The scant touch, the tease through his boxers elicited an eager reaction, and she felt him take a deep breath in that he held for quite some time before he shakily released the air from his lungs, "You don't-," he managed before he took another deep breath.

"Can you just relax and enjoy this," she nodded. "It's my turn."

She slid both hands farther up his thighs while her lips increasingly conformed to his shape and she listened to him breathing more heavily. Her tongue slipped past the opening in his boxers and he softly groaned at the feeling of her soft, wet tongue smoothing along his skin. She pulled the boxers down just far enough to free him, and he felt himself jerk upward just a bit when she moaned approvingly. He was suddenly exposed to the chilly air of the apartment contrasting with her warm mouth, and her soft hands cupping him and stroking, and then he looked at her and was nearly done.

She slowed, she was so damn deliberate and precise, and she could read every breath, twitch and action perfectly. She was controlling his response with the skill of a woman who had known a man for a lifetime, and it was clear she wasn't just trying to get him to completion as quickly as possible, she was taking her time to make sure he felt good. "You're…really…really…" he couldn't speak, couldn't form words from his thoughts because he was so consumed by her attention.

It seemed for a moment that he was going to pull away, to sit up, and one of her hands moved to the center of his chest to firmly press down, silently asking him to remain where he was. Her heart warmed to him, so disarmed, quiet and vulnerable. Even in that moment, he was considerate of her sexually, never expecting or forcing, but deeply appreciating. He seemed grateful for an act that she felt most men simply expected.

He started tapping her shoulder when he was close and no amount of distraction was going to stop his reaction and he mumbled, "Get up here."

She ignored his request, wanting to take care of his needs in the same attentive, thorough way he took care of hers. He grabbed the sides of his own thighs with his hands to stop from grabbing onto her, lost and completely overcome with the feelings of one of the best orgasms in his life, and he never really thought he could prefer one orgasm to another. His hands slowly let go of their death grip on his legs as he tried to regain his cool.

"I'm really what?" she asked after a few moments.

"So, really, good at that"

"Why thank you," she giggled at his physically tranquil state.

His head lifted, "What are you laughing at?" he asked with a teasing threat.

"You look so dazed. Relaxed."

"You're right. I can't lull around…I have things to do!" he announced while he sat up, pulling her legs around his hips and flipping her back on the sofa, landing with his stomach between her legs.

"I'm fine," she nodded. "I don't…need anything right now."

"Maybe I need something," he countered. "Paying attention to you is a significant part of my fun. It's like sexual snooping."

"Sexual snooping?" she whimpered softly when his fingers slipped under her soft, old, worn sweatshirt.

"Yea," he answered. "I'm figuring you out. I mean, based on my experimentation thus far…you seem pretty happy with my performance, however, I think I can get better. There's no room for complacency."

He pushed her shirt up out of the way, sighing as he looked at her body and then grumbling his disappointment when the oven timer went off, signaling that dinner was done.

"You owe me," he said as she got up.

"I owe you?"

"Yea"

"House, I already like you," she said as the timer beeped in the background. "No one…makes me feel the way you do in bed. No one. You have _nothing_ to prove."

She hopped up, shut off the timer and began to pull things out of the oven.

"I'm not trying to prove anything," he said while he got up from the sofa. "I'm just…enjoying my second chance."

Cuddy stopped her preparations and smiled at him. "Me too."

"This is a trick, isn't it?" he said with playful accusation to cover a very real, underlying concern.

"It is. I'm setting you up to use you mercilessly once we're at your place."

"I knew it."

"The thing is, you might be right…I might need someone in my life to remind me to enjoy things…but you know what, you might need someone like me."

"Why's that?" he said with a tiny twitch of a smirk.

"You deserve to have someone take care of you sometimes too. You need to learn to let people do things for you without assuming that there are expectations."

"There are always expectations."

"Right, there are…and there are lots things that need done, responsibilities that need to be addressed. But maybe we need to be reminded of all of the other stuff besides all of the things we expect."

"Think you have me all figured out?" he asked, amusedly.

"Not yet…I'm in process…learning. I'm definitely on to something. I'm going to snoop through all of your stuff. Read your diary, finish deciphering Greg House."

"My _diary_?" he huffed loudly.

"OK…no diary. Journal?"

"No…no journals. You'll really have to pay attention when you're snooping at my place. There are no diaries or journals, and I threw out the owner's manual."

* * *

A few hours later after dinner and dishes, they were in his car, making the five hour drive to his apartment. Once they were on the highway, flying past regularly spaced mile markers, Cuddy fell asleep, waking hours later when House stopped for gas.

When he got back in the car, Cuddy asked, "Why remember _me_? I'm sure you had tons of great sex with piles of girls who would love to see you again."

"_Piles_ of girls? Sounds kinky"

"A lot of girls"

"I think my reputation with women may have been slightly inflated…as a result of…me, making sure it was inflated."

"Even if it was. Why me?"

House stared ahead, driving, not fidgeting, just watching the road in front of him.

"OK," Cuddy nodded, "I know why I remembered you. You were hot…I mean I always thought that, but there was more than that. And reputation was one thing, you were more known for being a genius asshole than for sleeping with lots of women, but I knew a lot of the girls _really_ wanted you…I think it was because you seemed so unflappable. You were so intense…so unrelenting about…everything. You knew everything, the things the profs didn't even know. You feared no one. You weren't afraid of saying the wrong thing or how things looked or even of being wrong. I wanted to be like that. I wanted to say whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted to. I wanted to be fearless."

"I'm not fearless," he answered absently.

"What do _you_ fear?" she asked doubtfully.

"Tickle me Elmo," he answered without hesitation.

"Be serious"

"I am. It's horrifying…try walking through an aisle at the toy store filled with those things. You weren't exactly known as someone paralyzed by fear."

"I'm not paralyzed by it but, I have fears. I don't want to screw up. I don't want to make the huge mistake that I regret forever."

"Don't be afraid of screwing up. Make a decision and stand by it until you see evidence that your decision was wrong. Trial and error is part of what makes a good doctor great. Doctors can't always take the safe route and you can't always carefully consider things and talk them through. Screwing up leads to fixes for whatever was screwed up…which leads to new ways of doing things...sometimes you have to put it all out there, take the big risk and see where you land…medically speaking."

"I still want to get it right the first time," she responded.

"Says the woman driving in the middle of the night with a genius asshole she barely knows to an unfamiliar place? The decision to come here with me, to go out with me on a date, all arguably decisions that you could see as huge potential mistakes, yet here you are."

Cuddy chuckled, "I guess…I saw not trying as a bigger potential mistake than trying."


	6. Exposure

_A/N-Sorry I'm a bit late. Holidays have me running and these short stories have longer chapters, they take me a bit more time to prep. Thank you so much to all who have reviewed this story since the last chapter: IHeartHouseCuddy, the Guest reviewers, dmarchl21, Reader, lenasti16, Truth, Boo's House, ammeboss, jaybe61, JCLH, Josam, LoveMyHouse, givemekevinbacon, Suzieqlondon, LapizSilkwood, ClareBear14, House Freak, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, Huddyphoric, IWuvHouse, BJAllen815, Mon Fogel and Tori._

_I'm reasonably sure I'll be updating during the weekend. Thanks for your patience, things are crazy! I'm off to play Grateful Claus :) -I know...I'm a dork. haha.  
_

* * *

-Exposure-

"What in the hell are we doing?" Cuddy asked as they pulled into a hospital parking lot.

"Medical records…mine…unlimited access to Greg House's sordid past…" House replied, "Any of this ringing a bell?"

"Records division won't be open this late"

"That's the point," he nodded. "They canned me…which means I don't have quite as much access to things as I used to."

"Oh my god, are we _breaking in_?"

"To a hospital? Their security is a bit heavier than a few padlocks. I'm not _that _good."

"So how are we getting your records?" she asked suspiciously.

"Technically they are my records…they owe them to me."

"Agreed. But then why the whole middle of the night pseudo-break-in thing?"

"To request them formally here…they have two weeks to provide the information. You will only be here until Tuesday. If I tell you that I'll show you my records in two weeks, you'll think it's a trick…that I have something to hide. So I'll get them now."

"How?"

"A friend…a favor…maybe a small monetary incentive."

House was out of the car and several feet away before Cuddy even unbuckled her seatbelt. He stopped, turning back to the car and gesturing impatiently for her to follow. She practically jumped out of the car and jogged over to him, "This is completely unnecessary," she stopped him. "Really, two weeks is fine. I believe you."

"We're this far," he said, nodding toward the hospital.

"I don't want to get arrested."

House stopped, turned to her, grinning widely, "Why would you get arrested? It's a twenty-four hour hospital…like…pretty much every hospital I've ever worked in. Stop being so paranoid."

Cuddy grimaced toward the hospital entrance, "I don't know."

"You can wait in the car, but then you might think I fabricated them."

"I won't think that."

"Plus, I don't really want to bring them along, I thought you could just look 'em over and we can be on our way."

"How about…I just agree to trust you?"

"Dr. Cuddy, there is something you should know about me. You outlined your expectations…access to me, my home and my records. You did so in a sort of…provoking way…you used this as part of your argument against what I will call my _investigation_ into your life. You call it snooping and you seem oddly offended by it, when in reality, I'm just trying to figure you out. Now that you've presented the challenge to me, I have no choice but to respond. The die has been cast. You…were the caster. Let's go."

House took off toward the door, bringing her along as they walked through the entrance into the main lobby. Passing by the edge of the ER, he grabbed a lab coat from the back of a chair. They quickly made it to the elevator and went to the twelfth floor. "Put this on," House said as he slid the white lab coat around her shoulders over her winter coat.

"Why?" she asked, looking down at her bulky clothing.

"Do you want to look like a doctor?"

"Why do I need to look like a doctor?" Cuddy was visibly uncomfortable as the elevator ascended, her arms folded in front of her while her eyes watched the red floor numbers flashing on the display until they reached the right one.

"Because you're my doctor," House nodded. "I know it's a very foreign concept to you, however, you did a great job of pretending to be a doctor the other day in that clinic…except for the part where you were offering me sex. Highly unprofessional, and you made me feel really uncomfortable."

"I don't recall offering you sex in the clinic…or anything remotely like that."

"Must have been wishful thinking," he said while he fixed the collar of her lab coat.

"I'm gonna lose my license…aren't I?"

"For what…impersonating a doctor? You _are_ a doctor. You'll be fine."

They walked to the end of a hall, past a number of doors secured with large locks, to a desk with a sleeping security guard. House poked the end of the sleeping man's nose with a pencil that he took from the desk. The guard was young, pimply and round, and initially irritated that his nap was disturbed until he saw House. "Hey man!" the guard said. "I heard you got fired."

"Depends on who you ask," House answered.

"Pretty much everyone I ask says you got fired. I didn't hear any other versions of the story."

"I need some records."

"I can't do that," the guard shook his head.

"Sure you can. I just want mine. This is my doctor, I'm very, very sick. You are stationed here to get records in the event of emergencies. This…is an emergency."

"You don't look sick."

"Which is why you're a security guard…and not a doctor."

"Are you familiar with Rayhoeffer's Disease?" Cuddy asked.

"No, ma'am," the guard answered.

"I need to treat Dr. House for an ordinary bacterial infection, but Rayhoeffer's reacts poorly to certain types of antibiotics. He has a history of it. His paternal grandfather had it…which means his father could have been a carrier. It will take two weeks to test, and five minutes to verify in his files…five minutes of your time to avoid a potentially lethal drug interaction."

"I don't know," the guard said and then looked at House, "I guess…if it's that important to you…it's that important to ole Honest Abe too."

House tilted his head, "Honest Abe?"

"You get my drift?"

"Are you sure that's who you mean?" House asked.

"I picked the wrong president again, didn't I?" the guard asked.

House smirked, opened his wallet widely, and slid the requested bill onto the desk. "There ya go…smart guy."

"I always do that."

House asked, nodding sympathetically, sliding a few more bills onto the desk, "You can give us a half hour…right?"

"Sure," the guard nodded, looking at the bills and clicking the button that unlocked the door to the records room.

* * *

It didn't take Cuddy long to acclimate to the records room, she easily found his file and began leafing through it. House came up behind her, watching her looking through his things with an expression of seriousness. His hands surrounded her hips while she studied, and when he brought his lips toward her neck, she automatically tilted her head to allow him closer. He smirked against her skin, "Find anything good yet?"

"A few things," she answered, undeterred in her work but still enjoying the feeling of him. "What's this?"

He looked over her shoulder at a plastic card with a scan code and a series of numbers. His mouth moved against her neck, "Converting images to digital. MRI, CT, X-ray. Eventually, all records."

"Which of those did you have done?" she asked.

"MRI and X-ray. Two years ago."

"From this?" she asked, pointing at a copy of a discharge paper.

"Yup"

"How'd it happen?" she probed, shifting the file into one hand and reaching back to wrap her fingers around the back of his neck with the other, pulling him closer.

"Car accident. Just bruises, ruling out broken ribs," he answered while his lips were pressed against her shoulder. "It's annoying how you are still paying attention to the file instead of me."

"The file's about you, isn't it?"

"Yea, but I meant live me."

"You were the one who wanted to come to the hospital tonight," Cuddy answered, very professionally, "I wanted to go back to your place. If it was up to me…I'd have my ankles around your neck and I'd be asking very different questions right now."

She smiled when he groaned and his hands moved down toward her thighs. She used her free hand to relocate his hand to her hip. "Now that I'm here, let's just finish this up. Your financial expert's waiting for us to get out of here anyway."

As if on cue, the security guard came in through the side access door, the one behind his desk, and began talking to House. "Be back," House said before gently slapping her ass and walking over toward the guard.

Cuddy looked down at the bar code in her hand and when she saw the glow of a large computer screen a few feet away, the opportunity seemed too interesting to pass up.

House was talking with the guard, who was offering all of the latest in hospital gossip. When he looked back and saw that Cuddy was no longer in the same spot. He peered around the corner and he could see her seated in the chair by the computer. He wasn't concerned, there wasn't anything in his files that he didn't want her to see. Details of the few childhood incidents that he actually saw a doctor for were in records that were never transferred from overseas, most of the records of his youth were never forwarded to the next doctor anyway.

He continued to watch her, mostly because he was interested in observing her when she was unaware, and then something shifted. Her body language changed suddenly and she leaned forward, squinting at the image while her hand went to the mouse and began to click on different spaces on the image to zoom. Her shoulders dropped and her head tilted in thought as she stared. House walked down the aisle toward her, and when he got there, her fingers were absently tracing the edges of his ribs on the screen before flipping images and doing the same thing to each one. There were different types of images at different angles, enough to paint a pretty clear picture. She ran her fingers through her hair, and then leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her chin resting in her hands.

He had made a miscalculation, never suspecting that she'd look at these images of him as an adult, and never really considering that the evidence of earlier bone trauma would be so blatantly obvious. To an untrained eye, they likely wouldn't have been noticed at all, but all students were trained in medical school to watch for evidence of abuse, those signs of recent or repeated injury. Detecting these injuries in children could give a doctor evidence enough to intervene in cases of abuse before more harm could be done. Of course for him, she was far too late for that.

She saw him behind her in her peripheral vision, clicked to close the images on the screen, and she turned, attempting a smile that took everything in her power to display. "I'll put away the files, and we can go," she offered.

After putting everything back where it belonged, they walked out, dropping the lab coat on a housekeeping cart before they got in the elevator. House was stiff, guarded and impatient, the mood change obvious and uncomfortable. She tried to engage him in conversation that he easily dismissed. They walked out of the hospital, back into the night air. It was cold, but there was no breeze, the air oddly still.

When they got to the car, she shoved him against it, holding him in place with her two open hands against the windows of the car on either side of him, acting as if it was really within her power to physically keep him there. "You told me to snoop a little…you even said that it 'shows that I care.' I did snoop. And I do care. And I know what I saw…and you know what I saw."

"You lost me, Cuddy, I have no idea what you're talking about," he said dismissively.

"You do. You wouldn't be acting like this if you didn't." He looked away, a look of angry frustration consuming his face.

"House," she said softly, "I will not push you on this. I promise. I just want to know who. That is my only question."

He looked at her for the scantest of seconds and then looked away again.

"Was it your mother?" she asked.

House shook his head, more of a twitch to the side than an obvious gesture, but she understood.

"Your father?" she asked again.

The anger slipped from his face as it became neutral and he stared at the tires of the car parked next to them, never denying the accusation.

"I just wanted to know…who I should despise," she said as her hands left the car and settled on his chest. "Please look at me," she asked softly.

He did, setting his jaw stiffly and waiting, his eyes boring ahead in self-protection as she looked at him with the same attentively nurturing look he had when he took care of the wound on her wrist.

"I will not push you. That is the last question I'm asking about it. You don't ever have to say anything…or you can say everything. It's up to you," she continued.

Of course there were other things that could have caused what she saw. She had seen scans from hockey players and professional fighters that showed the evidence of old fractures, but from his reaction, it was clear that she was right. While she was happy to know the sad truth of the matter, she also could see that he did not want the truth of the matter to be known. It was odd, the way she could see him slipping away right before her eyes, and she wanted to stop it, wanted to end the retreat before it went too far. "I wanted to see what you looked like on the inside. That's why I looked, just curiosity…and it was there," she smiled, then her tone turned more solemn. "You gave me access. So you have to accept that if you give me access…I'm going to learn things. And I want to know…all of you. I'm sorry if I now know too much."

She looked down from his face and watched the way her fingers moved across his shirt in the space left open at the front of his coat. Had she been able to look at his face, she would have seen him weighing the options: considering, worrying, pondering. At that point, she steeled for the worst, which made the actuality of his reaction so much more pleasant. He leaned down, his hand trapping one of her hands against his chest. He moved his face closer to hers, gently nudging until she looked up. She had the scantest of tears in her eyes, clearly hurt by the painful truths she uncovered while they were supposed to be playing a game, and he kissed her softly. "I want to know all of you too," he said, whispering so scantily that the words were faintly breathed rather than spoken.

"You can," she answered with the very first thought that crossed her mind.

And then he said one of the most difficult and honest things that he would ever say in his adult life. These words were spoken softly but coherently voiced. "You can know me too. Just maybe not all at once."

She smiled broadly and nodded. "I'm willing to…spread it out."

"I don't want to talk about that right now. I may never want to," he answered definitively.

She nodded, "I meant what I said. You don't _have_ to say anything."

He was smiling, tentatively, and she considered how he was the most abrasive, fragile thing she'd ever seen, like barbed wire made of carefully heated, pulled and stretched glass. She found herself hating the uncertainty left in the wake of her discovery. She pressed her knee forward, wedging it between his legs, and her hands slid under his coat around his waist. He felt her fingers moving up under his shirt, then sliding along the top of his jeans, and meeting at the deepest dip in his back along his spine. "Can we go back to your place now?" she asked.

"Up for more snooping?"

"There are a few things I'd like to get reacquainted with," she said enticingly. "I really don't give a shit about your possessions at this moment though."

"You're interested in my stuff…but not my things?"

"Exactly," she smiled as she nodded. "I'd love to get my hands on your stuff."

"Just hands?" he asked, offended at the suggestion. "I was sort of interested in that whole…ankle-neck thing we were talking about earlier."

"We'll see how things go," she nodded. "I'm sure you're tired."

"Not _that _tired. I will actually…never be _that_ tired."

"Good to know."

* * *

They got in the car and as they drove, Cuddy looked as if she'd been struck by a realization. "This is really fast, isn't it? Are you OK with this?"

He glanced over with a sort of tickled expression, "I dunno. Our first kiss was eight years ago…it took you eight years to take me home. Sounds more…outrageously conservative than fast."

"How true. You aren't…freaked out?"

"About your level of insatiability…yea…it's a bit overwhelming," he joked. "You…are afraid that I'm freaked out? After I came to find you?"

"I think things have progressed a bit more quickly than what I would have anticipated when you asked me out…on _Friday_."

"Enjoy life while things are going your way. Soon enough…it won't go your way."

"That's pessimistic."

"Realistic"

"Maybe. Pessimistic too. You don't think there's any sort of future between us? I mean, I'm not talking about white picket fences, but we did mention my sister's wedding. That's two months away…what about that?"

"I'm not saying we can't make plans. I'm just saying…you never know when those plans will change."

"Is there a woman who has treated you like shit?"

"No," he laughed. "No woman's _dun me wrong_."

"So why the attitude?"

"It's just life…school, work…even you. You find something good…and then it's gone."

"You can influence those things."

"How?"

"You could have not cheated in school."

He huffed.

"Or," she said, "You could have actually called me. You came back now…and that's going your way, isn't it?"

"So far," he nodded, "Yes."

"Maybe you should try keeping me this time. Open-endedly. Can't you let me surprise you? It is possible that I will. I'm not saying we'll last…I don't know. Right now, this is good. I want to keep this. You want to keep this, I think."

"What I want the outcome to be…and what the outcome is…aren't always the same," he answered with complete acceptance.

"And you say _I_ don't know how to have fun."

"What do you mean?"

"If you anticipate the worst is next, are you really having fun in the moment? It's like…jumping off of a bridge without a bungee. You really can't enjoy the free-fall if you're positive that you'll be impaled by jagged rocks at the end. You have these seconds of realization that what you're doing is fun, but the jagged rocks are never far from your mind because you can see them, racing toward you."

House looked sort of confused, and she wasn't sure if the accompanying emotion was irritation or a deeper level of thought. She slid closer in the seat, took his hand and placed it on her thigh. "We fell through before and you survived, landed here. Does this…feel like jagged rocks?"

He smirked and shook his head. "Neither does the wind in your face during the free-fall," he countered.

"I was hoping after my thigh…you'd move on to something else that feels good. Something else that won't hurt you. You seem to like my breasts, I'm pretty sure they don't hurt you."

He nodded, still smirking.

She whispered, "And your hands…seem to love grabbing onto my ass. All of these things…aren't jagged rocks."

"No…they aren't."

"You hide your face for a moment between my neck and shoulder…you've done that almost every time, when you can reach…right before you come. Like you're completely in that moment. That probably feels good."

"Coming…yes, that feels good."

"I mean before that…you get…lost. These are all years after the first free-fall and nothing's gone wrong. You survived that and now we're here."

"Right now, yes, you smell good…you feel good, all of those things, I'm not denying it. But that's all part of the free-fall. Good things…then bad things."

"I like…sleeping next to you. That feels good too. Eating with you is fun. Sneaking into records rooms in the middle of the night. So far…I've had fun, non-sexy moments with you too…all also post free-fall."

House sighed, continuing to drive and beginning to look for a space to park.

"The woman," Cuddy added as if she had a wonderful idea, "the one with Lyme's…who you were willing to sacrifice everything for to prove that she had Lyme's."

"Yes"

"Fibromyalgia is a disease of exclusion…something you settle on when you have proven that it can't be anything else. What if…unhappiness…is Fibromyalgia…and happiness…is Lyme's."

"Both of those things are not fun."

"Help me out here," she continued. "I want you…to assume that unhappiness…the condition…is a condition of exclusion. Unhappiness…isn't the default, it is what is left if there are no other options. Prove unhappiness wrong…by finding something else that fits better. Prove you have something else with the voracity that you proved that woman had Lyme's."

"You think that unhappiness is what is left when there are no other options?"

"Absolutely. Don't get panicky, I'm not saying that your happiness is necessarily with me, I'm not saving dates. It could be anywhere…but don't assume that your outcome is unhappiness. I'll help you prove it, even if I'm not the woman you want."

"Do I look panicky?" he asked as he slung his arm over the seat to back into a parking space.

Once he was parked, his arm remained over the seat and he was facing her. She studied him carefully before answering, "No, you don't."

"Because I'm not"

"I know guys get all worried that woman are automatically hoping for marriage or at least cohabitation the second they start going out with someone," Cuddy casually explained.

"That's…what guys think? Are you sure?"

"Yes. Guys think all women are just…sitting there, waiting for a commitment, and it's easy to scare them off. I'm trying not to scare you off."

"That kind of thinking…is why I stopped going out with guys completely," House quipped. "They're so weird."

Cuddy giggled, quickly leaning forward and kissing his lips. "I know, right!"

"I'd avoid this…ambiguous pool of guys…you should probably stick with me. I'm much less complicated and not as prone to unnecessary commitment panic," she was smiling until he added, "I'm also pretty sure no one is desperately trying to settle down with me."

"Why would you say that?" she asked as he got out of the car and came around to her side, leaning down to her window.

"Are you coming?" he asked, screaming through the closed car window. "Or are you scared I'm one of those girls trying to force you to settle down?"

She got out of the car, "It is almost four AM. People are trying to sleep. You're insane."

"Think…that might be why you like me," he said, grabbing her hand while they walked to an old, tall row home a half-block away.

* * *

He went up a few steps, unlocked the door and went right into a large, open living room. Homes like his were likely once the residences of the wealthy in years before homes became larger and more extravagant.

"This place…is all yours?" she asked as she stepped over a pile of mail by the door.

"This floor," he responded, also stepping over the mail and making no move to gather it.

The room was spacious, which only seemed to make its emptiness more obvious. The ceilings were high, probably 12 feet and the windows were large. The place was clean, but there were random stacks of various things in locations all over the room. There was sofa, a TV, a piano and a beautiful, old fireplace with a mantle that was almost as high as she was tall. Next to the piano there was a table with a guitar case, an obviously old stereo system, and a stack of records. A table in one corner was used for a desk, and apart from three, tall bookshelves, the room was empty.

Cuddy stepped along the creaky wood floors onto a carpet that wasn't installed, but rather covered the section of the living room where there was a sitting area.

"This is gigantic," she said as she looked around.

"It works," he replied, nodding for her to follow him. Next to the living room there was a bathroom, and beyond that, his bedroom. His bedroom was just as sparsely furnished as the living room. There was a dresser, a lamp and phone on a table, and an unmade bed. "You smoke?" she asked, shocked as she pushed an ashtray back from the edge of the table with her finger.

"Only fun stuff. And back here," he continued, "is the kitchen."

"You have to walk through your bedroom to get to your kitchen? Must be awkward with company."

"I don't throw dinner parties," he answered. "It's easier to get girls in here…divert them on their way for a glass of water, trip them into my bed. Voila!"

The kitchen was well-furnished, more filled than what she had expected, but still simple.

When Cuddy came out of the bathroom, she found House digging through his fridge. "We should have brought food from your place," he commented, holding out two different bottles of beer and waiting for her to choose one.

He went back to his search of the fridge when she pulled him away and shut the door. "Come on," she said, dragging him toward his bed. "I'm in the mood for proving happiness."

Cuddy sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off her shoes and pulling him down to her while he was still standing. He reached for his bedside stand and she whispered, "I don't need that."

"Hunh?" he asked.

"A condom. I don't need it. If you need it, then fine. We agreed we weren't going to see other people. I'm on the pill. I never miss one. You're clean…I'm clean." House hesitated and she flinched, "Sorry, I shouldn't have suggested it."

"No," he said, sitting on the bed next to her, "I've just never…"

"Me neither. It's almost a year since I've been with anyone…please don't use this as evidence that I'm even more boring and uptight…I'm just busy. I like you, and I trust you, so I thought…why not? I ruined the moment, didn't I?" she asked.

"No," he shook his head, enjoying, in some way, her uncertainty. "You didn't."

He turned back to her and delicately touched her lips before he backed away to assess her reaction, and smiled just as subtly as he had kissed her before returning to kiss her again. In minutes, their kiss went from gentle and delicate to something they were more accustomed to, something more desperate and more ardent. The next few moments were filled with frenetic gestures directed toward removing any impediments to their goal, as their clothes gathered in small piles on the floor, or on the bed next to them.

They were next to each other, long and stretched on the bed, on their sides, face to face, reacquainting themselves with the body they'd been exploring only a few hours earlier. He already loved sex with her, he was addicted, but he looked down at his own body and watched the compassionate way that her hands moved over him, and then met her eyes, and saw the undeniable affection that was in her gaze. It felt like it was too much to accept and too much to leave, all at the same time. The looks in her eyes were frighteningly powerful, they were drawing him even further into her. Some part of him wanted to run, but he simply couldn't flee what was quickly becoming so familiar it felt necessary. They had touched and teased and caressed their way steadily closer.

In her mind, she was aware that it was the first time they were truly making love. She hooked a leg over his hip, and moved her body closer so that his length rested between the folds of her sex. Shifting subtly, she allowed her sex to slip against his, coating him in the evidence of her arousal and watching while he accepted the sensations, his eyes closing slowly, his face entirely devoid of misery. "Are you sure this is OK?" she asked.

He nodded, affirming his consent with a kiss and resting his hands on her hips. He pivoted her pelvis toward him, waiting patiently, allowing her to make the next moves without encouragement. She positioned him at her entrance and he could feel the warm dampness against him, so inviting that he had to fight the urge to drive forward while he tried to wait. She pressed her body to him, steadily, allowing just the tip of his length into her body for a moment before bringing them together entirely. He groaned as his jaw relaxed, his head tipped back slightly. She pushed him the whole way over onto his back, so she could sit on him, allowing her body and gravity to encourage their joining.

Rocking just a bit to test the feeling of them together she asked, "Does it feel different?"

He nodded his head, but said nothing.

"How do I feel different?" she questioned.

"So good, amazing," he said as she lifted off of his body and sank down a few times.

She lifted his hand to her breast, encouraging him to touch her, but he was obviously wrapped up in the feeling of her. He couldn't find the words to articulate how she felt. Warmer than usual, hot, the sensation of skin against skin, the tight feeling of her soft walls moving against him, conforming to his position or shape while clinging to him was as intense and overwhelming as it was pleasurable. In a new way, he could feel the silken quality of her wetness, allowing their movement against each other with just enough friction to make every fraction of a distance's movement luxurious.

Above all of the other factors that made his pleasure so much more intense, was the way she easily accepted him and trusted him in a way that she couldn't trust others. And she had seen more of him than most people had ever seen.

She wanted to hear that she was making him feel new things, she wanted him to tell her exactly how different and how amazing she felt, but the fact that he couldn't seem to muster a response seemed ample evidence of those facts. She braced her palms just at his hips and used that point of contact to lift her body up, away from him. "I want you to look," she requested temptingly.

He lifted his head and looked at her face first, seeing again the growing feelings evident in her expression. His eyes followed the curves of her body to the space where their sexes met, and he sighed low, with a hint of whimper, when he watched the way she was moving above him. She moved persistently, trying to maintain an easy pace, not too intense, not to fast, trying to allow that moment to last. He sat up, prepared to kneel on the bed and pound into her because his body's need to reach orgasm was becoming demanding, but she fucking smiled at him before her teeth dug into her lip and moaned almost desperately, and he found he wanted to love her more than he wanted to come or make her come.

Still in a partially kneeling position, he pulled her up to him, her arms winding around his neck, her legs around his waist, holding on as she balanced against him for a few thrusts before he flipped her down onto the bed. She moved her legs higher up on his shoulders, tipping her body up to meet him. He pressed down into her, a bit more insistently, and her hips rocked in perfect time with the waves of their passion. "Is it…better for…you too?" he managed, slowing a bit.

The truth was, she wasn't even sure if he actually felt better to her physically, or if it was the added intimacy they shared through a bond of trust, one that neither of them gave before. Most times, they didn't even trust their lovers, suspicious, even in the few moments of passion that they found, constantly needing to protect themselves. Regardless of the why's or how's, he did feel better to her.

"Fuck yes," she moaned, "you feel…closer…molded to me…and…and…" her words melted into moans as he pushed the fullness of his weight against her pelvis, reaching deep within her, while maximizing the contact between their bodies, and soon she was done.

He could feel every ripple and pulse of each of the contours inside of her as she came, the muscles in her locking down with a rough, clamping pulse on him. He waited until the twitches inside her slowed a bit and he began to move again, possessed by his need.

He pulled his body upright, dragging her nearly limp body along and he began to pump into her and she whimpered, "Never fucking stop."

He leaned back over her again, finding her narrow fingers reaching for his chest and his muscles snapped tight with climax, his body almost fully upright and entirely tense as he hovered over her, rigid, vulnerable and powerful. He could suddenly hear everything and strangely nothing at all, his brain disconnecting from observation because every neuron was engaged in experiencing exactly what it was experiencing before his weight collapsed onto her. "I'm…so sorry," he murmured.

"For what?" she asked.

Her arms were around his shoulders, her fingers pushing his hair along the shape of his ear while the heel of her hand caressed his face.

"You said not to stop," he said, sounding like sleep was imminent. "I had to stop."

"I meant…stop wanting me. Overall."

"Oh, no problem," he answered sleepily.

"I want to do that again."

"I need a minute…I want to too, but…I think…I…"

She chuckled, "I fucked you stone-cold dumb?"

"Yup," he said with exhausted happiness.

"Thanks…that was…" she paused when she heard him snoring.

* * *

He'd barely slept in days, so when sleep hit, it barreled toward him.

When he woke, her arms and legs were still around him, his forehead against her cheek, and his chin against her chest, he was tightly wrapped in Cuddy. "Morning," he muttered.

"Greg?" she asked.

"Yea"

"Nothing"

"What, don't do the nothing…don't go nothing-ing on me now," he griped, lifting his head from her body his expression irritated. "Things were good…"

"But it really _is_ nothing, I just wanted to say your name…and see if it worked. Do people actually call you that?"

"Oh," he smiled, before tucking his face against her again, "They did until high school. Then all of those military sons, acting like their daddies, somehow feel cooler to refer to each other that way. Then…in medicine…you know. Last names just sort of make more sense."

"Do you like being called that?"

She could feel him shrug.

"We're sort of…dating…just each other," she responded to his shrug.

"Eloquent recap"

"So is it weird that I don't call you Greg?"

"I really don't care what you call me. Does it matter to you?"

"No"

"Well…then just do whatever comes naturally. You say 'Greg' like you're trying to speak in a long dead, foreign language that you don't know, which to me shows that it isn't the most natural. House is fine. Greg is fine. Supreme Lord and Master…actually my favorite."

"Good luck with that one."

After a few moments she asked, "You…not planning on living here long?"

"I've been here…two years. I don't know what's next, depends on where I find a job."

"You don't have a lot of stuff."

"I have enough stuff. I'll get more stuff when I figure out where I'm going to land. I've moved my whole life…it's both normal, and irritating. Once I find a home, I want to stay there. Anything else until that point…temporary housing."

"Wonder where you'll end up."

"Probably wherever you end up. Want to get a place with me…in about a year, or two, depending?"

She giggled, "Right."

"I'm serious. I'm…disproving unhappiness as my ultimate diagnosis by pursuing a different possibility. You should be happy."

Nodding her agreement she grinned replied, "OK…in a year or two. You're on."


	7. Acceptance

_A/N-thanks everyone who's reading this fic, I hope it's still enjoyable, and to all who reviewed: IHeartHouseCuddy, Boo's House, JLCH, ikissedtheLaurie, Naomi, dmarchl21, jaybe61, lenasti16, HuddyGirl, R, Alex, Suzieqlondon, LoveMyHouse, LiaHuddy, Josam, LapizSilkwood, Lau, Huddyphoric and Guest._

* * *

-Acceptance-

Sunday melted into much needed naps, pleasurable feelings and very little else, the hours coming and going quickly.

Sitting at his piano, House began to play idly, tinkering with notes while she showered. It was Monday morning. In a few hours, House would make the long drive to take her back home. There were precious few hours of their temporary bliss left. When Cuddy agreed to allow a Friday date to extend into Saturday, and they mutually agreed to allow Saturday to extend into Sunday and Monday, it felt like they had all of the time in the world, but with a few hours left, House could feel his sense of unhappy expectation returning.

It was a quiet, solitary moment, one of few that he had had in days, and he could hear his doubt calling in his mind, the realization that, in a few hours, he would have a lot of quiet moments in which to listen to his own concerns. There were details to deal with, he needed a job, they lived hundreds of miles apart and as much as he wanted to just keep her there in his apartment, he doubted that she would abandon her life and goals after a weekend. He also realized that her acknowledgment of reality and commitment to finishing her residency, the end of the long journey necessary to become a doctor, was probably a good thing.

It seemed like she was taking forever getting ready, and he wasn't about to allow their final few hours to be frittered away. He began to play actual songs, more than tinkering, and admittedly, it did have something to do with impressing her a bit. She was initially won over by the date, she seemed impressed by him overall, trusting and open in a way that was nearly too much, or at least unexpected. Since then, he felt she had done more impressing of him than he did of her. Cuddy was worth effort, and he began to feel it was his goal to convince her that he was worth her continued time. If she was right, and he did have a hand in making sure that the things he wanted were the things he kept, he was going to keep her.

He heard her moving in his bedroom, and then caught the sounds of her making a phone call before she walked out to where he was playing.

"Get dressed," Cuddy demanded, "We have a lot to do."

House's eyes went to her and he froze when he saw her before him. She was putting her shoes on while in motion, leaning against the wall with one hand while putting on the right shoe, and then taking a few steps before putting on the left. "House!" she shouted, "We have to go."

She turned to find him seated behind his piano, staring blankly with wide eyes.

"You never wore _that_ in school," he finally said, his eyes never ceasing their observation of her.

She stood tall, looking at him with a proudly amorous look, "You like this?"

Her hips were clearly defined in the tight skirt that she wore. A sleeveless, silky, purple shirt covered some of her torso before she shimmied into a jacket that matched the grey skirt. She balanced easily in heels that seemed impossible to effectively wear.

"OK?" she asked, "Is it that you like it or you don't like it?"

"I like it," he finally answered. "It's…different."

"Something for conferences, interviews"

"Have a seat," House offered, "I'm glad you decided to come for an interview."

"For actual job interviews," she clarified.

"And clearly, I've attended the wrong conferences"

"I need you to focus. Get dressed."

"Are we role playing?" he asked, his voice still even and distant because he was far too distracted by his need to look at her.

"Yea, definitely," she teased, "I really felt that after a few days and roughly seven million orgasms I needed to spice up our sex life."

"Anything for you," he offered.

She smiled at him, clearly flattered by his interest, but still focused, "I need you…to get dressed. We have an appointment."

"How much actual role playing do we have to do for this scenario? I'm thinking you have about two minutes of non-sexual interaction from me before I'm completely distracted by how your ass looks in that skirt."

"A few hours off would probably not kill us," she answered, "And we're going to get your job back."

"How are you going to do that?" he asked.

"I will show your former boss the ways that he was wrong. Once he sees his mistakes, he'll hire you back," she insisted. His response was incredulous to say the least, so she added, "Please, let's give this a try."

House looked down at the keys of his piano and then swiftly bobbed his head, "Kay," he answered before getting up and walking into the bedroom.

Cuddy sat on the edge of the bed, watching him.

"It just takes me a few minutes," he told her while he pulled on a pair of jeans.

"Jeans? Seriously?"

"Yea. I don't work there, what's the point?"

"The point is to demonstrate why they want to hire you back."

"Are you just trying to make sure that I have a job commitment far away from you?"

"No," she stared resolutely ahead, "I want to make sure that you can get a job later…so when you interview for other jobs, you don't have to explain to them why you were fired. We'll get you back in here then you can find something better…ideally, something closer."

"You brought that outfit…with the intention of going to fight for my job?"

"Obviously"

"Why?"

"You did the right thing…your methods were perhaps a bit inappropriate, but the goal was admirable."

* * *

Cuddy was fearless, determined and completely convinced that she would have her way. She stood in front of the doctor who had misdiagnosed the patient, the department head and the lead hospital administrator to plead House's side of the case. Her position was well argued and she could feel the men in front of her being convinced that she was right. And then the doctor who had misdiagnosed the patient asked exactly which organization Cuddy worked for as a "patient advocate." Slowly her strong position unraveled before her when they realized exactly what and who she was.

The second there was a chink in her case, her power diminished steadily into nothingness. The administrator looked at her in a pitying sort of way and said, "Look, what you tried to do was impressive…you almost had me and the truth is, you don't have a leg to stand on. This isn't about right or wrong or justice, this is about how things are."

"Just because something is accepted practice…doesn't mean it's the best practice," she argued.

"When you're actually ready for a job…when you've completed your residency…give me a call. I think I can fit you in here," he offered using a charitable tone. "But not him," the administrator pointed to House. "He's just a complaint, piled on a lawsuit, piled on irate patients lined up out the door. You should be more careful who you associate with."

She marched out of the hospital, ranting angrily while she stormed away, defeated and frustrated, feeling a sense of failure that infuriated her. House said nothing while he listened to her during the entire ride back to his apartment and straight through until they were in his living room. She finally sighed, sat on the sofa, dropped her head and said softly, "I'm so sorry I let you down."

"You're insane, woman," House said grinning. "I'm the one who got fired and you're the one who feels bad."

"I was positive I could get you your job back."

"Because hospital elite are quick to listen to recent graduates and residents with fresh ideas?"

"You think I'm naïve?"

"I think your expectations of yourself are far too high. I also think your vision of what can be is impossible."

"So…as I said, you think I'm naïve."

"I think you're an idealist in a world that isn't ideal. And yea, maybe a little naïve."

Cuddy sighed, staring away.

"I can't believe you tried that," he added.

"Stupid, optimistic Lisa Cuddy, right?"

"I just meant the effort didn't go unnoticed. I screwed it up. I can fix it all by myself."

"Yea," she answered as she stood to pace out her frustrations.

"I'll find something. It's not your problem. This is a stupid thing to waste your time on. I have a few more hours before you go back…before you remember that this…is just a temporary departure from your quest to rule the world."

"This better not be a temporary departure," she muttered.

"I mean that tomorrow…you will be thinking about things other than the various things I like to do to make you scream my name."

She was standing in front of the tall, curtain-covered windows near the door while he watched her from his sofa. The woman was fidgeting and still pacing on and off, obviously frustrated by her inability to reach her goal. He thought that one of the most interesting things about the scenario was that she seemed more upset by her inability to get him rehired than he was to be fired in the first place.

"Why are you taking this so seriously?" he asked with confused annoyance. "Forget about it, it's not important."

"You said that…when you were expelled, you left because I'm not a fan of failure."

"Yea"

"See, you think you get me, and in some ways you do…but you still miss some really critical facts. Yes, I hate failure, I despise it. My _own_ failure. Other people's failures? I'm less concerned with those."

"I doubt that."

"It's true. I don't like…laziness or half-made attempts. I think if you're going to do something it's worth your attention…but failure as a result of someone's best effort…no, I don't despise failure when it comes as the result of genuine effort. So maybe I'm not quite the rigid bitch you think I am."

"I didn't call you a rigid bitch."

"So what would you call me?"

He calmly fiddled with an order form that fell from one of his magazines. "I don't understand why you'd be so worried with my job. You say you care about my resume, but I don't really buy that. It's like you have this…expectation of justness in the world…so you are going to be so disappointed. The world isn't just. Things don't work out evenly over time. You seem to expect that they will. It's a recipe for chronic disappointment."

"That's not true. I don't expect things to work out…I think that…when people see things that aren't working the way they should, they should try to change them."

"But see…I'm not the good guy. I'm not some…poor, downtrodden do-gooder who's gotten a bad shake. If what you are looking for is a poor, downtrodden do-gooder who's gotten a bad shake…you will again be very disappointed."

"That's not what I see," she challenged. "You can't read me as easily as you think you can."

"Neither can you."

"I can see you," she retorted as she took four, long strides over to the space in front of the coffee table. "You think you're such an enigma, and you aren't. At all."

"I think you probably see an idealized version of me, the same way you see an idealized version of the world. Ideal is not accurate."

"I see what's real. Just because I refuse to accept the worst of things as reality doesn't mean I don't see the truth. Accepting that all things are the sum of their worst parts is as misguided as choosing to believe that things are the sum of their best parts."

"We had one damn class together…and you defended me at least twice," he cited as proof.

"I don't remember. But, I'm sure yours wasn't the only position I defended."

"No, it wasn't. But why would you think that I'd need you to defend it. Why would you think that a med student…who had years of training beyond you, would need you to defend them? It wasn't like I was in a corner, crying that the prof wasn't swayed by me."

"If you were right and I had something to contribute to proving that, I'd defend you. Or anyone," she said, crossing her arms indignantly. "You aren't the only one who sees things. I saw you, even back then. From what I've seen so far, little's changed."

"Why don't you explain to me who I am then?" he suggested snidely.

"OK," she nodded. "You believe in fighting for what's right every bit as much as I do. Even if it isn't obvious…no, especially if it isn't obvious that it's right. You really don't care if the general public sees you as asshole, I think that's because you see yourself that way, but you'd say it's because other people's opinions don't matter."

"Because other people's opinions don't matter," he countered.

"Don't they?"

"Not at all"

"Then why are you interested in mine?"

"I'm not," he answered defensively.

"You are though. You can't admit that?"

"Fine, I'm _curious_ about it."

"My opinion matters to you. I'm not sure why…but I think it does. And you know what else? You came into that clinic like you were looking to fuck me, reminding me of our past, playing it off as sexual, and then trying to make it sound like a date, which it was…a wonderful, thoughtful date. Then you tried to make it seem as if I was a complete fool for thinking that it was only sexual. Then you want more…more dates…flirting with…thoughts of a future beyond Tuesday…even hinting at future cohabitation-"

"Was that hinting?"

"Is the guy who practically worships my body the same guy who hopes to live with me some day?"

"They're a pretty cohesive unit," he answered softly.

"I think there's more to it than that. You said you thought I'd want to see you again…and you admitted that you wanted to see me again."

"I did, which I cleverly hid by actually coming to find you?" he said with doubt.

"You didn't just want to see me again for sex or for a date. You wanted to correct something that was wrong. You wanted to fix it for you, but I also think…you wanted to fix it for me. I think you felt bad. I think you worried that my feelings were hurt."

"Oh, yea," he answered with a touch of unconvincing sarcasm while he looked over her in her skirt. "I'm thinking about your feelings right now."

"OK," she shrugged. "I think I do an awful lot of the talking around here…sometimes I guess I should slow that down a little."

"I talk."

"You talk constantly unless I ask you a question that I really want answered or we're being…intimate. You don't talk then."

"Yes, I do."

"Not like I talk."

House stood, planted one foot in front of him and stuck one hand into his hip. "Now…am I talking like you talk? Except a few octaves lower?"

She smiled at him, accepting the deflection again while he settled down into the cushions of the sofa. "You said you liked how this looks on me."

"Am I not complimenting you enough?" he asked unhappily.

"No," she answered with offense, "That has nothing to do with it. I don't need validation."

"OK, then yes, I like how that looks on you. Since administrators usually wear things like that instead of scrubs…you're starting to sway me that administration is where you belong."

She silently chuckled and nodded. "Talking can…enhance."

"I'd rather do than talk about doing."

"We could do both," she smirked. "Maybe I could convince you that words are worthwhile in moments like these."

Cuddy had a feeling, a theory that if she was able to get him to speak more freely in less intimidating moments, he would eventually feel safe, and open up to her about more intimidating subjects. She felt like he kept so much of what he felt a closely guarded secret.

"I like it when _you_ talk. I'm already convinced," he replied.

She stood in front of him, leaning down, bracing her hands on his thighs. "Can I kiss you?" she asked seductively.

"I thought we had a standing agreement about that."

She watched his expression while she slid her skirt slightly higher on her body and sat on the edge of his knees. Pressing her hands down firmly into his thighs, she slid them upward until she reached the place where his legs met his hips, and then scooted the rest of her body slightly forward, closer to his torso. She let go of her grip on his thighs, brought his hand up to her face, and softly kissed the ends of each of the fingers of one his hands, letting him watch while she began to gently suck the tips of his fingers. He watched her, his mouth slightly open. He was patiently waiting, enjoying the way that she looked, the amorous eye contact that she made while she barely paid him any other attention. He leaned his head and torso forward to kiss her, and she backed away just a bit, still smiling.

"So now I'm not allowed to kiss you unless I ask?" he questioned, feeling bemused at her avoidance of him.

"I wasn't sure how to interpret your reply when I asked to kiss you."

"That's why words suck," House answered. "Maybe instead of asking, you just should have gone for what you want. By now you should know, unless you hear otherwise, the answer is always yes."

"I fear rejection," she teased.

"Let me ease your fears," he assured as he came closer, removing his hand from her grasp and placing both of his palms down flat on the sofa as he kissed her with immediate intensity and need, counting on her to keep her body close enough to him even if he wasn't holding it there.

She loved the way he kissed her as much as she loved everything else he did to her. They seemed to lose the outside world in their expressions of pleasure and what she could only interpret as demonstrations of emerging affection.

"See…if I had to ask if I could touch you," he said between presses of lips and licks and nips of her mouth, "I'd have to stop kissing you. And I really don't feel like not kissing you in order to ask a question. So, I tried to kiss you…and you haven't hit me or left or pushed me away, so I'll try the next thing…test the waters."

He went back to the process of kissing her and his hands drifted onto her knees where they met the sofa. He gripped the muscles of her thighs tightly, massaging, experiencing the sensations of the way her body felt. "See," he mumbled. "Now I didn't have to stop what I was doing to talk about it."

She scooted forward, closer to him so that she could feel his growing erection beneath her and she whispered, "So I don't have to ask if I can do this?" she said a second before she ground her pelvis down against him, separated by his clothes and her panties, but he could still feel the heat of her body above him.

"Nope, you can just do it. I don't seem to be stopping you…or complaining," he answered, trying to suppress a groan while he wrapped his arms low around her back.

"So you'd rather just attempt, and look for cues that signify approval or rejection?"

He smirked, ignoring the question before continuing to lavish attention on her, his hands grasping her roughly forward before moving up along the narrow but defined muscles of her back to her shoulders, directing her body so he could have her neck and shoulders where he wanted them. He wanted to taste the dip along her shoulder, so he did, following the contours of her body to the center of her chest.

Her jacket was on the ground behind them, her slippery-smooth, purple top drifted over her skin, moving between his hands and her body. He pulled off his own tee shirt, so when he brought her to him, he could feel the fabric that separated them being warmed by their bodies while it slid between them.

She took his wrists in her hands and lifted them above his head, pinning them to the back of the sofa.

"You _really _like to be in control. Don't you?" he said with an accusatory grin.

"No," she scoffed.

"You kinda do," he nodded. "Or you think you do. Because, you tend to respond really well to being out of control with me. At least with sex. You seem OK with trusting me then."

"I trust you. You know that," she replied, still pinning his hands. "We wouldn't be doing the things that we do in the ways that we do them if I didn't trust you."

"See…you like being in control, probably all of the time…but I think you know you can't control me…and I think you like that. Because you trust me…even when you aren't in control. I'm a deviation from your norm."

"You're reading too much into this. I'm not that complicated."

"Sure you are," he answered. "You're smart…you know that you don't have me trapped here…but yet, you still want it to look like you do."

He lifted his hands from the sofa, easily moving his arms down in spite of the fact that she had them pinned. He brought both hands down to her breasts, cupping them softly while her hands were still around his wrists. "You know that you can't control me…you _like _that you can't control me."

"If I'm such a horrible control freak…why would I want a guy that I obviously can't control?" she asked while she watched him lift his arms back up over his head, her hands still around his wrists, and he rested his hands back in the spot where she had attempted to trap them.

"Sometimes it feels good to let someone else take charge. To let your guard down. You know that I could easily overpower you, that I could hurt you if I wanted to. In the end, you also know that I won't use the physical advantage I have to hurt you…I like to use it to your benefit…to make you feel really good things." He moved his lips so they were touching hers and then whispered, "and you like the way I make you feel. You like letting go…believing that I will take care of you…that I won't hurt you."

She nodded a bit, let go of his hands and replied, "You got all that from me pushing your hands over your head and asking you to talk more during sex?"

"Yea," he answered, forgoing the argument in favor of touching her.

She was responding to each of his touches, gasping or moaning or softly sighing just at the places and at the times when he felt she would. He began to feel that he truly was becoming a master of the woman's needs and responses. Inside his head, he scoffed at the idea of the need for words, feeling that his understanding through observation and learning made for a far better experience than someone asking questions or talking about what they want.

"Don't get me wrong," she said, continuing their debate while they were jointly removing her shirt and bra, moving his face to her breasts, "it isn't a complaint at all, I'm completely overwhelmed by you, repeatedly. I just think that if there's a way to make sex better, or maybe just a way to shake up encounters occasionally, as long as both adults are consenting…then why not?"

He hummed an agreement, distracted by the taste and feel of the nipples in his hand and in his mouth, at that point, barely comprehending anything she was saying, until he did. He looked up at her, wounded, "If you feel something is lacking…"

"It isn't _lacking_," she replied quickly. "I just…the sound of your voice…especially when you want me, when you're horny and hard and almost raging with need...it turns me on. So if I can hear it, it's just another sense that's stimulated. I like being with you and _knowing_ that I'm with you. I like to see you, and feel you, taste you and touch you, and, when I can, I like to hear you too. I feel fucking you should be a very comprehensive experience." He was lapping at her nipple again, smirking just a bit, his hands unzipping her skirt. "Do you mind," she asked, "If every single sense that I have…wants to know that I'm with you?"

He smiled up at her, shaking his head.

"I think," she added while she moved closer, opening his belt and lifting up while he shoved his jeans down his legs, "That well-placed words can stimulate the mind too, don't you?"

"Not really," he answered quickly. "I like how you sound. Not statements or discussions. Sounds. My name. Mostly moans and gasps. _That_ is what's hot to hear. The involuntary sounds. The content of what you say…doesn't matter."

They busied their hands and bodies removing clothes and groping. She didn't answer for a while, he had forgotten they were having a small debate while slowly getting each other warmed up, and then she nuzzled against his neck. With a breathy whisper, she said, "It wasn't like I wanted to have a _discussion_. It was one of those things where I wanted to give you options. I know I could start either one, and that you'd react with approval, but maybe I'd like to know which you'd prefer during this encounter."

He continued with persistent appreciation, touching her body, listening, even as she was talking, to the ways she'd respond to different things and feeling somewhat smug about the fact that she was practically proving his point the entire time. He definitely won their sexy argument. Then she sighed, "I just couldn't decide which position you'd like best when I finally make you fuck me."

"Seems like you can make that choice without asking," he answered absently, although his grip tightened on her instantaneously.

"I can."

"Based on cues from me," he said, cockily, feeling, again, that he was winning the argument.

"Could be"

"Or…"

"In the end, I made the decision selfishly. I knew I wanted to feel your whole body against mine when you come inside me. Because I love how it feels when you come inside me."

He gripped more tightly onto her hips and lifted his pelvis, pushing roughly up against her at the sound of her words while he grunted, involuntarily and immediately reacting to the meaning behind her words as if he had been carefully trained to react to her that way. His reaction was wanton, unhindered and evident. He smirked up at her, admitting silently that she had proven her point but choosing not to concede that fact verbally.

"You definitely reacted to my words," she gloated.

"You want to argue right now?" he asked when his thumb pressed against her clit. "You really want to argue right _now_? I don't."

"Of course you don't, because I just proved my point, so you want to deflect."

"I'll admit that I reacted strongly to your words if you want. I agree that your words definitely made me feel something."

"Good"

"As long as you admit that you've had most of the power since I came to find you. The power to turn down my offer of a date, to decide if we go on another one, to decide if we'd have sex, to end this experiment of ours entirely."

"Yet I haven't rejected you at a single turn," she said while she positioned herself over him, pausing when he was poised to enter her. "You've had just as much power to stay or go, to make this physical or not. If you don't see that, you can't blame it entirely on me being in control."

"You acknowledge that I have the upper hand…physically," he said, his voice unsteady.

"Does that make you feel like a big man?" she asked, sounding more irritated than moments earlier.

"No, it's just the truth."

"OK, fine. I acknowledge it," she replied as she stood.

He thought that she was retreating from him, that the moment was over, but she didn't go far. She grabbed under his knees and pulled him forward on the sofa. "What are you doing?" he asked, confused until she backed toward him, hovering over him, ready to sit on his lap.

He stared at her ass in front of his face and breathed his approval. She hovered over him again, finally taking him inside of her as she settled onto his lap. "I wanted to know maybe if you wanted to have me like this, sitting on your lap and letting you look at my ass…letting you relax while I take care of you," she offered enticingly.

His hands felt the curve of her hips, the shape of her ribs, reached to experience the fullness of her breasts. He was starting to get lost again, and realized that he wasn't finished making his point, so he slipped his hands onto her thighs, pressing them down and holding her still.

"I guess sometimes I have the upper hand, physically," she smiled as she glanced over her shoulder.

"That doesn't bother me," he admitted. "But you admitted that you know I won't hurt you physically, even when I'm completely in control."

"I know you won't," she answered, her voice strong and convinced.

"Hopefully you'll be as careful with the ways you hold the power," he answered before he used his hands to lift her and then allowed the weight of her body to reunite them again.

She moaned out loudly, torn between her physical desires and curiosity about his statement.

"You want words?" he asked gruffly.

"Yea," she nodded.

He pressed his rough chin to the back of her shoulder, "You…I want you. So much…I'm just trying to convince you to keep wanting me…so I can keep having you."

"What?" she asked, sounding surprised at the admission while their eyes met and lingered over her shoulder.

He nodded slowly, "So can we please stop arguing about this and have sex…because you're killing me."

With a scandalous look, she smiled at him, but she didn't say another word, allowing her body to answer his question. Together they chased their gratification, both seeking to sate a hunger that would only be made hungrier every time they attempted to satisfy it. Hints of affection sneaked through in glances and lingering caresses, depths of desire were conveyed through grasps on fleshy parts and the ways that thighs moved against thighs while fingertips sought the length of a spine or nipples, knees and ribs, and palms rubbed wider expanses of flesh. The coordinated sensations blended blissfully into cries that were too loud for the place or time of day, and led to angry stomps on the floorboards of the apartment above that would never be heard by the couple who was being warned.

Afterward, while they panted and mumbled their appreciation, she leaned back against him, pressing her forehead to his cheek, and she whispered unfiltered words, "I think I'm going to miss you."

His hand rested tightly against her stomach, the other hand was flat against the center of her chest. "Now _those_ are interesting words," he said tiredly.

At that she was up, extricating herself from his limbs to get away from him when he grabbed her and pulled her back to him so she was sitting next to him, her legs draped over his. "I might miss you too, so relax. Don't get weird," he said softly, holding onto her more tightly.

"Then don't be a jerk," she countered softly.

"I'm not. It _is_ interesting."

She stared at his chest and shoulders. "Sorry," she offered, referring to the bite marks she found. "They're from me?"

"No, of course not. They're from the other girl that can't seem to stop riding me."

"Oh yea, you're definitely _not_ a jerk," she said sarcastically, smacking him but giggling. "I guess I should be a little gentler with you."

"I'd never ask that of you," he grinned so fully that she blushed in response, while he traced small finger-sized bruises along her hip before sliding a hand along her tender inner thigh.

"I guess we should be happy to have a few days alone to recover," she said sweetly, her fingers finding scratch marks along his chest while she gazed tenderly up at him, finding a similar expression on his face.

"Yea," he nodded, "We should."

* * *

They spent the rest of the day and evening together, hiding in his apartment until they had to leave so she could return to work. The theory was that she could sleep in the car while he drove her home, but she couldn't sleep. When they arrived in the parking lot of the hospital where she worked, he pulled into a parking space and waited.

"You want to go sleep at my place for a few hours?" she asked. "I'm sure you're exhausted."

"No," he answered firmly, "I have stuff I have to do…a job to find."

"OK," she nodded, smiling nervously. "When will I see you?"

"You're off Monday. I can come Sunday night."

"Sure, that would be great. Want to pick me up here?"

"Yea," he answered, looking at the expression on her face. "You're looking at me like I won't be back."

She stared ahead, thinking before digging into her coat pocket. "Here," she said, holding out a tightly folded piece of paper.

He looked at it suspiciously. "It's my phone number…I said you had to earn it. You've earned it," she explained tentatively.

"Thanks," he nodded.

She kissed his cheek briefly, "Call me soon?"

He nodded, "I will. And I'll see you Sunday."

"Yea," she answered, her grin so forced, wide, awkward and unbelievable that he grimaced in response.

"I'll be back…Sunday at the latest. Maybe sooner," he assured.

"I know," she replied unconvincingly. "No matter what, I've had the best weekend…maybe ever. So thank you for that."

"Me too. You aren't going to get rid of me that easily. The other girls don't maul me the way you do," he winked, trying to lighten the heaviness in the air.

There was another kiss, a soft hug and a look that was both longing and concerned. Moments later, she was walking into the hospital to return to her normal life.

He didn't give her much time to worry because he called that night. He visited her that weekend. They existed together in small moments, usually a few hours of intense and passionate sex before she went back to work and he went home.

A few weeks after House showed up in the clinic, an old professor from Michigan was brought in to serve as an interim administrator at Cuddy's hospital. Cuddy was thrilled to see the woman again. Dr. Larson was a woman Cuddy had admired since the day they met. Larson was strong, seemingly fearless and professionally successful, and she remembered Lisa Cuddy. Larson began visiting Cuddy and serving as a mentor. Larson wanted to see Cuddy succeed, hoping to encourage more women to be involved in making decisions about patient care and the direction of medicine.

When Cuddy's weeks serving in the clinic were finished, she went to Larson's office to receive her next assignment. Larson said she was trying to make her mark at the hospital, wanted to ensure that her administrative position wasn't just interim, but would eventually become permanent, and she wanted Cuddy to help her make that mark.

Although Cuddy was brimming with excitement about work, she began to worry about things with House. He mentioned that he was going to be very busy during their previous phone conversation, explaining that he thought he might have a job, providing her with few details. In spite of his assurances, part of her worried that he was being secretive. She called him two days before a scheduled meeting with Larson, eager to share her excitement with him about her new mentor, and he never answered the phone at his apartment or returned her call the next day. She felt like she was on the edge of something great with work, and on the verge of huge personal disappointment.

Cuddy showed up at Larson's office promptly at nine that Thursday morning, dressed in professional attire, just as instructed. After the assistant directed Cuddy inside, she took a final steadying breath and walked through the door. "Lisa," Larson said warmly, "Thank you for coming."

Larson shook Cuddy's hand and then went right to business, "I'm assuming you know Sam Harriott, a fellow resident here at the hospital, and did you know Greg House? I think you overlapped at Michigan for a year or two."

Cuddy's head tilted with confusion and she chuckled with surprise for a moment as she studied Larson for signs that the woman was joking. Once Cuddy realized that Larson was not joking, she looked around, turning her head back and forth between her mentor and the table where her love interest was seated while she processed the information before her.

"Are you OK?" Larson asked.

"Oh, yea, fine...I'm fine," Cuddy said a bit too loudly.

"Dr. House will be leading this project during the pilot. We'll see what kind of support we can drum up to carry on beyond the six week trial period," Larson added.

"Dr. Harriott," Cuddy nodded as she approached the table, shaking the fellow resident's hand. Next to the place where she stood, House sat, elbows leaning on the table. "Dr. House?" Cuddy asked, her skin flushing, just a shade or two pinker than normal as she extended her hand.

He took her hand and smirked when he watched her react to the touch. Although they had spoken a few times, they hadn't seen each other in nearly two weeks. "I think we had a class together," House observed, his eyes trained on her.

"Seems vaguely familiar," she responded, facing him so that only he could see the surprise in her wide eyes.

"Yea, I definitely remember you," he affirmed. "Guess we'll be working together. Should be fun."


	8. Employment

_A/N-Thanks for your patience, I've had enough merry-making to last me the next twenty-two years, and it's kept me a little busy. Thank you to everyone who reviewed since the last posting: jaybe61, lenasti16, Josam, JLCH, LapizSilkwood, Iane Casey, IHeartHouseCuddy, Naomi, Boo's House, ClareBear14, Reader, Abby, dmarchl21, HuddyGirl, Alex, Suzieqlondon, MissBates, Huddyphoric, BJAllen815, LoveMyHouse, ikissedtheLaurie and Guest._

_Happy New Year!  
_

* * *

-Employment-

After Cuddy's brief concern that House had developed second thoughts about a relationship with her, it was quite a surprise to see him in her mentor's office. It was suddenly very clear that he was very much in her world, actually sitting at a table at her place of employment. She had innumerable questions about how he came to be there, but it was not the time for questions.

She watched him staring down at case files, looking through the first two or three and shoving them roughly aside while Larson explained to her what they were doing. Larson wanted the hospital to lead the way in diagnostics. She had discussed this possibility with a younger House when he was a student of hers with an uncanny ability to see connections in cases that others could not. Most hospitals did not have the resources for such departments. Of course their experimental department did not have limitless resources either. They had six weeks, only enough time to see a few patients and make the case for the continuation of the department.

"When House called me right after I started, it was like a gift from the career gods," Larson bragged. "How did you know I started here anyway?" she asked, suddenly interested in a question that she had not thought to ask previously.

"Grapevine," House answered as he shuffled through papers in a file.

"Pretty short vine," Cuddy mumbled absently, drawing confused looks from Harriott and Larson. "What does this mean for my residency program?" she asked in the hopes of moving the conversation forward.

"Six weeks helping me out, then you'll move on to oncology and the rest of the program," Larson answered.

"OK," Cuddy nodded, looking at House somewhat nervously.

He looked so strange at work, staring at files with a disgruntled and intense look on his face. She was used to him in personal settings: in their apartments, having dinner, out on their rare, casual dates. She was not quite sure how she felt about having him so closely involved in her professional life. He was supposed to attend her sister's wedding with her in a couple of days, so within a very short time span, he would be part of her love life, her personal life and her professional life. Part of her expected him to stand up from his seat, drop her on the table and have sex with her in her boss' office, because their relationship so far had been largely personal and very often physical. They had a natural attraction for each other, coupled with the excitement of a new romance, limited time together, and the fact that neither of them were normally in a relationship, so their appetites were somewhat voracious in the precious few hours they had together. It was not that the non-physical aspects of their relationship were unpleasant, things seemed to be going well, but time management was necessary.

He did not pick her up and have sex with her on the table, he barely even looked at her until he put one file to the side, "This one," he said to Larson, offering the quickest glance in Cuddy's direction.

House's gaze was subtle and quick, but she knew immediately that things between them were still good. The look sent a jolt through her body that made her think that having him near her at work was going to be very good, although likely distracting.

"Not this one," Larson said, "Pick a different one."

"The other ones are easy," he responded.

"Then take one of those, and pretend it's difficult."

"Why?" he asked derisively.

"Because I need a case where I think the family or associates of the family will be able to respond with financial appreciation."

"This is about money?" he asked. "You told me to pick the best case."

"The hardest one isn't necessarily the best," Larson countered, looking through the remaining files and setting three back in front of him. "Pick one of these."

"This is Niemann-Pick. Do you want your first case to end with a dead kid?" House argued.

"It's not Niemann-Pick."

"It is, run the tests. I don't want this one."

"It is _not _Niemann-Pick," Larson practically yelled.

"You're saying that because you're making fallacious assumptions. It can occur outside of the Ashkenazi population, and you are assuming that the mother's husband is the baby's father. You're wrong."

"What do you mean…are you accusing the mother of infidelity based on a case file?" Larson asked doubtfully.

"More like that kid's condition is accusing the mother of infidelity."

"Fine then, what about this one?" Larson suggested, handing him another file.

"Wilson's disease," House answered.

"Perfect. A treatable disease"

"Treatable, but not undiagnosed," House countered.

"It is to them"

"Not to me"

"We'll admit him Monday morning. Run the tests, confirm the diagnosis. Drag it out over a few days. Then…perform miracles."

"Seriously?" House asked. "This case is unsolved…that one…the one you want me to take…is simple."

"Solve the Wilson's case. Run the tests. Start the damn treatment. Perform the fucking miracles," Larson answered, numbering each step on her fingers. "This family can ensure that you still have a job after six weeks, and I can get an approval from the board so that I can keep mine. Then, if we get the approval, you can take the hopeless case for the family that has no money and waste all of the time you want with that one."

"Dr. Larson," Cuddy added after she reviewed the file, "he's right, this looks like Wilson's. I think it's just an oversight on the part of the referring physician."

"Lisa, dear," Larson said condescendingly, "If you want to be in administration, you need to understand that you have to make decisions that will ensure the viability of your hospital. This family has a lot of money. It will look impressive. We all win. If you have enough time before you move on to oncology, and House agrees to take the case, you can waste your time with the hopeless one."

Cuddy breathed in, prepared to argue and she saw the look on House's face. When she saw his look, she nodded at Larson and conceded, "OK."

Larson nodded stiffly, "Good." Turning to House, the woman added, "Don't screw this up for me. You're brilliant, probably the best, but you…are an arrogant asshole. Temper the asshole and the arrogant, display the brilliance. If you fuck this up for me, I will make sure you never work in medicine again."

"This will be fun," House responded with an obviously disingenuous happy face.

Larson smiled threateningly, "It's your choice, House. This will give you the opening you need or end your career. I don't think you're stupid enough to kamikaze this opportunity."

House stood, "We done with the pep talk?"

"Doctors Harriott and Cuddy…we have no budget, which is why I'm giving House a team of residents. You're my best. Protect my program and my name. I like you both…for now. Don't fuck it up."

Cuddy winced but nodded slowly. Harriott had been relaxing in a chair in the corner, barely paying attention to what was going on around him. He stood, completely unconcerned, confidently adding, "You got it."

"Show House to his office, fourth floor, Walsh's old conference room, give him the tour. Monday your patient will be here," Larson instructed.

"You don't need us both for the tour, right?" Harriott asked, obviously disinterested in the assignment. "I want to observe that pediatric neurosurgery. Schwartz is only here for a few days, I'd hate to miss that for the grand tour."

"Fine," Larson nodded, "Monday morning, be in House's office."

House, Cuddy and Harriott walked out into the hallway and Harriott spun around, directly facing Cuddy, "Want to get drinks tonight? We're all going."

"No thanks," Cuddy smiled, "My sister's wedding is this weekend."

"Going with anyone special?" Harriott asked with open suspicion.

"Yea, I am, thanks for checking," Cuddy replied with a deflective wink. She looked at House, "Give me two minutes to stop in the ladies' room, then I'll show you around…Is that OK, Dr. House?"

"Sure thing, Dr. Cuddy," he replied, his glance flirting for a moment before she walked away.

"Sorry to stick you with the ice princess. You want to go out for a few beers tonight?" Harriott asked House.

"Me?" House asked, with shocked confusion.

"Yea, you," Harriot answered.

"If Cuddy's an ice princess, I'm the frost tsar, so no thanks."

"It isn't just residents, if you think you're too good for residents."

"I don't need to show up to kiss asses so I can join yacht clubs and doctors-only bowling leagues. Don't worry, you'll be among the snotty, white sweater, ascot-wearing, privileged few in no time. I'm not interested elitism or jaunty sportswear, so you have fun without me."

"You always like this, dude?"

"Yes," House nodded decisively, looking around and dropping the conversation.

"Well, I can tell working with you is gonna be piles of fun," Harriott retorted.

When Cuddy returned, Harriott was quickly gone, and there was a split second where she was standing, facing House, close though unable to touch, slightly taller than she often was when with him because of her heels. "You want the hospital tour first, or you want to see your office?"

"Office," House replied, clearly attracted to her even in his moment of inaction.

She nodded to the side, "Come on."

When the doors to the elevator closed, she sighed, "I've been trying to call you."

"I've been busy."

"Getting a job here?"

"Yea. Had to call Larson, get all of my paperwork in order."

"Probably a good idea to mention a new job to your girlfriend…particularly if you plan on working at her place of employment."

"Wanted it to be a surprise"

"It…was a surprise," she replied.

"You aren't pissed are you?" he asked with confusion.

"No," she answered sharply while she held up a hand when the doors to the elevator parted and they stepped out into the hallway. She took several quick steps down the hall as he followed and checked out his new surroundings. Cuddy pushed the door open to the very small office. There was a table with only a telephone on it. The table was big enough for two or three people, with two chairs tucked under it. Otherwise, the room had a large tablet on an easel, one small window and nothing else.

"This is an office?" he asked.

"I guess," Cuddy replied, spinning around to survey the room, equally unimpressed.

He jerked around when she grabbed his arm and shoved him against the only door to the tiny office. Her lips were against his in moments, kissing him with an intensity that he had grown to expect. "It's so tempting to go down on you right here…with you leaning against the door to your office."

He smirked, tired of her having the verbal upper-hand, so he turned them around so that she was against the door. "Keep in mind, as you spend the next few weeks hot and bothered, that you were the one who wanted me to start talking more," he threatened.

"I take full responsibility," she smiled expectantly.

"We both know that I could drop down on my knees and have you desperately trying to keep your screams to yourself while I get _you_ off while _you_ lean against the door," he said watching her shiver.

She grinned flirtatiously at him, excited that he was talking to her in that way, in his voice. "I can't guarantee that I can keep my voice down," she added, shamelessly encouraging him, "But I'm willing to try if conditions are right."

"I really want to, but I know that you won't be happy with a man who can't keep a job, so a jobless me spells certain doom for us. I also know that I'm supposed to be your boss, and licking you until you scream will probably mess up both of our chances here. Maybe we should try to hold off until one of us has tenure…or at least practice being quiet at home a few times so we know we can do it without getting caught."

"You're probably right," she answered with a quick kiss before addressing more serious matters. "I'm glad to see you. I was worried," she whispered.

"You were worried…after what, two days?"

"Yes. Two days without hearing from you, two weeks without seeing you and the last few times we spoke you were…distant."

"And you're dumb"

She backed her head away, "Nice," she said sarcastically. "I tell you I'm happy to see you and you call me dumb."

"Don't be offended. You're dumb for thinking it meant something was wrong. Everything's fine."

"You should have told me you were trying to get a job here."

"You _are_ mad then?"

"No, I'm not _mad_ I'm just surprised that you wouldn't mention it. I'm the one who told you Larson was here, and you didn't even give the slightest clue that that was significant information."

"I told you I'd fix my joblessness…I fixed it. At least for six weeks," he explained.

"Did you ask for me…to work with you?"

"No," he answered unconvincingly.

"No?"

"She said she had no budget…I mentioned that if she had any really good residents, I could use them. The thought had crossed my mind that you were probably one of her best. I thought she could afford to give me residents since they barely pay you."

"I'm sure I don't make what you do."

"Actually…you do. Or almost. She's paying me complete crap. But, if I do well, she's promised me significantly more."

"If we're in a relationship, the least you could do is keep me up on this stuff."

"A relationship, huh?"

"Yea…at least I think so…do you disagree?"

"No, I don't _disagree_. Are you going to be OK with us working together or do I have to run down to Larson's office and tell her you grabbed my package and I feel harassed so that you aren't stuck working with me?"

"I'm sure Larson would believe that I would do that. It's six weeks. We can handle it. Six weeks is hardly career changing."

"So…can I crash at your place for a few days?"

"Oh geez…I dunno," Cuddy pondered with a grin, "I guess it's possible."

"OK. I'll get a room," he answered, with a look that she thought was supposed to be a smile hiding disappointment.

"Kidding. House, I'll be seriously pissed if you stay anywhere other than my apartment. I want you in my apartment, in my bed, near me for the next six weeks. It'll be fun."

"Are there secret woman rules under this?"

"Yes," she nodded, adding sarcastically, "I hide secret woman rules under everything." She placed a hand on his stomach and added sincerely, "The only _request _is that you don't keep stuff like this from me. I deserved to know that you were going to be there this morning."

"And you'll tell me if you're sick of me and want me to go."

"I won't be sick of you."

"I'm sure you will."

"I won't, but if I do get sick of you, I'll tell you."

"So we have all day to walk around here. You can give me the tour…and then tomorrow you take me home to the family?"

Cuddy smiled stiffly, "Tomorrow's just rehearsal but they'll be there. Wedding's Sunday. Oh god."

House looked almost immediately wounded, "I don't have to go, I fucking hate weddings, but I did tell Larson I had a family function and couldn't start 'til Monday."

"You think I'm dreading the wedding because of you?" she asked with disbelief.

"I'm sure"

"I'm dreading the whole wedding…I hope you can stand my family…my mother's is quite possibly the most judgmental person on the planet. Dad's sweet, but overprotective…and it's a wedding. Weddings are crappy dates with implied expectations…"

"Is this your way of telling me you didn't buy me a ring?" House asked with feigned shock.

Just as Cuddy opened her mouth to speak, the day began to unravel. There was a knock at the office door, Harriott stood outside with a pile of files and handed them through the door to Cuddy. "She wants you to call and tell these people that we can't take their cases."

"Me?" Cuddy asked.

"I don't care who, she wants one of you to call and say we won't see them and they need to find someone else."

Cuddy began making the calls, the first one was met with a mediocre reaction, a family who had likely heard too many times, from too many doctors that there was no hope. The second call was the family who had the child that House thought had Niemann-Pick. The father of that child reacted less well, with devastation nearing hysteria.

After hanging up from the call, House could see Cuddy's unhappiness. "It's just so wrong," Cuddy commented as she leaned her head in her hands. "You already know what it is. We could at least get them a diagnosis. Allow them to do what they can or at least have some answers. Why can't we do that?"

"Because the _administrator _wants us to work miracles for someone who's rich…something that will have a happier ending, which is far more convenient for her career. And as much as you want to convince me otherwise, most administrators are selfish pricks who have no idea what being a doctor is about."

"I hate this. These people deserve a diagnosis. I'm going to call Larson," Cuddy decided.

"What's the point? She won't do anything about it."

"Maybe she will."

"But she won't."

"There's got to be something we can do! Come with me, maybe she'll listen to you."

"Cuddy," House practically yelled, "it's pointless. She's not going to change her mind until after the other case is solved."

Cuddy looked away, pounding an angry finger on the table. "This sucks."

House grabbed the phone, hitting redial and waiting. "Look," he said before the answerer had time to say too much, "Take your kid into your normal family doctor and demand a test for Niemann-Pick."

Cuddy listened while the other person spoke and then House answered calmly, "It does occur in other populations."

The mother on the other end of the phone spoke for a while and House finally barked angrily into the phone, "Or…you could confess to the affair that you had with your child's _biological_ father…that's an interesting idea. Or is it more important for you to pretend like you're better than that than to try to do what you can for your own kid."

The other party answered briefly and House responded, "It's up to you. Keep pretending, fess up, make a decent excuse, whatever. I don't care. You want a diagnosis, so don't pretend that you're some victim who will do anything to get that diagnosis when the information that you're hiding is no doubt the piece of the puzzle that people need to properly diagnose your child."

Cuddy heard loud screaming from the other end of the phone, and House hung up, "Clearly some people just don't want to be helped."

* * *

Cuddy showed House around the rest of the hospital, a full tour of the facility that was fun and flirty and sort of disarming. She seemed to be warming to the idea of him being in her presence, even at work.

It did not take long for the angry parent of the child with Niemann-Pick to show up at the hospital to complain. It did not take long to have Larson call a meeting with House and Cuddy and the parents. It did not take long for the angry ensuing fight afterwards, which eventually ended with House insisting sarcastically that he was sure that the mother was faithful, but that the test should be done just in case the father was one of the rare, non-Jewish carriers of the disease. The parents seemed to finally concede, to accept that they needed the test. "Also, just in case, I'd get a full STD work up," House said to the husband, "Clearly no one is cheating, but in case you are one of those rare people who catch a _sexually _transmitted disease in a non-sexual way…can't be too careful."

The family sort of scowled, but Cuddy eased their tension, calmly leading them toward the door, asking that they take their child for the immediate testing that she had convinced Larson to approve in the midst of the argument.

In the next breath after the door closed, Larson was screaming angrily at House. She was mad that he had undermined her, mad that he had insulted the parents, furious that he had spent less than one full day there and had already stirred up trouble. Larson hollered angrily at House while he seemed to be ignoring her. When there was a small break in the conversation, Larson looked at Cuddy and said, with soft disapproval, "I'm counting on you to make sure stuff like this doesn't happen."

"What harm would it have done to run the test?" Cuddy asked. "Sure, accusing the mother of infidelity was a monumental mistake, but we could have just ordered a battery of tests, including the test for the Niemann-Pick. It would have been lost in the shuffle. Then, after determining the truth, we could have discussed it with the parents…tactfully."

"I thought I explained to you that I need well-placed miracles here," Larson replied.

"Sure, you did. And I understand why…I also understand that if we're successful, we'll be able to help dozens of families in the future, so I _want_ this to work," Cuddy countered.

"You need a solid dose of reality, Lisa. It's cute, _naïve and misguided_, but cute that you think this world is some happy, little place where little girls and boys grow up to become doctors because they really love helping their fellow man."

"I don't think that," Cuddy retorted.

"You do, Lisa. It's clear. This is not how medicine works. Medicine, specifically administration, is about making things happen, keeping some egos happy and others in check, generating enough money to be successful, making the tough decisions, sometimes giving more of yourself than you want to in order to do what is best for the future, not only for the hospital, but for yourself. The patients and healing are one, small part of the whole."

"I fully acknowledge that things are more complicated than handing out band aids, Tylenol, and hugs," Cuddy answered firmly.

"You might be in the wrong place. You should probably reconsider the administrative program. Maybe something more service-based, working with the impoverished. Or even temporarily volunteer overseas and get this out of your system. See how you feel."

"What?" Cuddy asked with shock. "A few days ago you thought I was the next generation of administrator, and now you want me to quit the program and volunteer elsewhere because I think you should have been willing to run some tests?"

"I just need you to understand that administration is not about warm and fuzzy feelings and caring for the sick. You have to make unpopular decisions, be willing to sometimes do what is best, even when it isn't what makes you…or anyone else…feel good. As quick as you are to defend House's actions, I doubt he'd quickly defend yours. House understands the world. Ask him, he'll tell you that you have a lot to learn."

Cuddy looked over at House, who was seated in a chair, looking off in the distance with his chin leaning on his hand. "I think she _does_ have a lot to learn," House said with a tone of agreement. "She needs to learn that most administrators are bullies who don't give a shit about anything except padding their own bank accounts and making their own names."

"Do you want this job or not, _Greg_? Because you are running short on opportunities. And I can find someone else," Larson threatened.

"I want this job as much as you want me to have it," House said calmly. "You need me. You won't fire me, not until you have your permanent position."

"You already told me this case is Wilson's Disease. I could just give the case to Harriott, let him officially solve it," Larson suggested.

"But then what about the cases that come after that? Wouldn't it look better if I solved several _impossible _cases over the next few weeks?"

"Not if I have to fend off angry parents every few hours," Larson complained.

"You knew what you were getting with me," House replied. "You knew that from the start. You want to be the administrator who can harness me, right? Because I know what you and the other professors have said. I know that you all know that I'm better than anyone else, and you all think I need to be directed. That I could actually be worth it if I was guided correctly. You want to be the one willing to take the big risk that pays off."

"Right now I'm trying to think of why I thought this was a good idea," Larson said as she leaned against her desk.

"Because you need something extreme. Because there are ten men who have to do less to get the position that you want so badly."

Larson smirked, "What is it that you want?"

"If two or three of these other cases are simple…if we can figure out what's going on by running some tests…let us run some tests. Bill the patient's insurance like any other patient who walks into this hospital and it won't impact your budget at all. You're already paying us."

"It'll hurt the data," Larson answered simply. "I can't have you successfully solving only one out of five cases or having too many of them end in the morgue. That doesn't make the case for why this experiment is a good idea."

"So, don't bill them through the department. Bill them through another department. Or in my name or Cuddy's name as doctors through the clinic."

"That's a lot more work for you," Larson said. "You can coast through the next six weeks and get a better job. Why's this worth it to you?"

"It isn't worth it to me, it's worth it to Cuddy. She's the one doing most of the work, so if it makes her happy, she'll work harder for me, do what I want."

"You're going to feed into her delusions?"

"If her delusions encourage her to do whatever I need done, when I need it done…sure."

Cuddy looked back and forth between the two, somewhat disgusted that they were talking about her like she wasn't even there.

"Fine. If it's risky, it goes through me, and I'll probably say no. If it's costly, it goes through me, and I'll probably say no. If you can figure it out safely, and cheaply, and without causing me any trouble, fine. It's on your head."

"No problem," House shrugged, standing up, "I have a very thick skull."

"Not _your_ head," Larson laughed, "you've already demonstrated that you don't give a shit about your reputation. It's on her head."

Cuddy looked up, "Me?"

"You care about your future. You can decide if it's worth it to you, or not," Larson answered. "Get out of my office, go home, have a great weekend. Monday you show up, you do my work, my case, you do it right. You don't piss off the family, you don't screw up. If you have time, take your charity cases after you finish my stuff. Don't let it interfere."

Cuddy nodded, standing with House and going toward the door.

"Don't cross me again, children. This is my game. Play by my rules. And, Lisa," Larson added, "I'm not being cruel here…but you need to seriously consider whether or not administration is right for you. It's not too late to change your residency…go strictly with endocrinology. You can be a specialist in a nice office somewhere, take a few gratis cases for patients without insurance or given inner city kids the band aids, Tylenol and hugs that you mentioned. Not everyone is cut out for this job."

"I _am_…cut out for this job," Cuddy said with a determinedly set jaw. "I won't fail."

Larson smiled, "I know that. Why am I even worried?"

"You shouldn't be," Cuddy said with a smile that faded the second they were out the door.

* * *

After the meeting, Cuddy began rushing home, her legs moving beneath her as quickly as possible. House mentioned that his car was in the parking lot and she calmly told him to meet her back at her place. House caught up in his car, pulling over to the side of the road. "You want a ride?" he asked.

"You're humoring me…so that I'll work harder for you?" she asked with some disgust.

"No, that's what I told Larson," he said after hopping out of his car and jogging up to her side.

"You lied?" she asked when she stopped walking and turned to face him.

"Everyone does it and it was worth it. I told her what she needed to hear to do what we need her to do."

"Why?"

"Because you were right. It makes sense. If we have time, and we essentially have a non-case, what harm does it do to run a few tests here and there?"

"So you _are_ humoring me?"

"No"

"I think she's right…I think you're right…maybe this is the wrong place for me. Maybe I'm not made for administration."

"She was trying to bully you…threaten you into doing things her way. Don't do that. Don't give in and let her twist you like that," he said with thorough disappointment while he took her arm and pulled her to his car, opening the passenger seat and nearly placing her inside the vehicle.

"Why? I said you were right. I'm not like her. I'm not capable of being like that," Cuddy said, tired after the day.

"Which is exactly _why_ you need to do it."

"You're trying to make me feel better," she continued once he got into the car on his side.

"I wouldn't do that. I'm more likely to piss you off than attempt to placate you."

"She never seemed like this before"

"People change when you start pissing them off," House nodded. "If you do exactly what she wants, when she wants, without question, she won't act like that."

"I guess."

"She's exactly what I expected. She is a normal administrator. She is who she is. Don't expect more out of people and you won't be disappointed."

"So that is what you expect of me?" she asked after a while. "You expect that I'll be like her?"

"No, not at all"

"So I'm _not_ made to be an administrator."

"Didn't you tell me you didn't want to be part of the status quo? You wanted to change something?"

"You don't think that's possible!"

"Maybe not," he shrugged.

They were silent for the remainder of the ride back to her apartment. When they parked by her stairs House asked, "Can I still crash here?"

"Yes, of course. We'll have to leave tomorrow for the wedding anyway," She added dryly. "Yay, today I get to hear about what a failure I am professionally, tomorrow, I can hear about my personal failures. I'm sure I'll be great company for you."

* * *

Once inside, Cuddy showered, trying to relax while House set up her TV so they could watch a movie and attempt to relax for the evening. Her disappointment was actually painful to him, and things did seem to be going poorly for her. A few weeks earlier, she had failed to get him his job back, a failure that she had taken very personally, and then the latest disappointment with Larson. Cuddy looked up to Larson, seeing her as a kindred spirit and mentor, only to discover that Larson's motivations were certainly less than altruistic. Although he had never met any of her family members, it was already obvious that Cuddy was dreading the next few days of listening to relatives judge what they perceived as her personal failures.

When she came out of the bathroom dressed in her pajamas, he almost felt hit by the very real sense of disappointment emanating from her. She was trying to open a bottle of wine, something she had done hundreds of times without a problem, but suddenly even that ordinary task was causing her problems.

House hopped up on the counter next to her, taking the bottle from her hands and efficiently uncorking it. "Whether or not _I _think it's possible to change the status quo…matters less than whether _you_ think it's possible. Because you are the one who's trying to change it," he said, reaching into the cupboard and grabbing two glasses.

"And yet, even the guy I'm dating doesn't think I can. Hell of a cheering section," she smiled sadly. "But…thank you for sticking up for me. Thanks for making sure I could do what I wanted to…for letting me help those families. You stuck your neck out."

"It was selfish. I want you to succeed. And even though my cheering may sound a little…cynical from time to time. It isn't. I want you to make it. I want you to shove your success in Larson's face."

She chuckled, "You do?"

"Oh yea"

"Are you feeling…optimistic?"

"God, no…but sometimes it would be nice to."

"Maybe you are more of an optimist than you let on"

"Or…maybe I'm hoping that your hope…is infectious."

"Communicable hope?"

"Sexually transmitted…preferably," he leered.

"Why aren't you mocking me?" she asked him as she filled his glass with wine. "You should be making fun of me for oversimplifying, for my admiration for Larson, for this…misguided belief that things can be better even when life is clearly demonstrating exactly how stupid I really am."

House quickly finished his first glass of wine and poured another. "I don't want to have to see what you'd be like if you didn't believe you could change the world. It _is_ infectious. And…if you stop believing more is possible, there is no way I'll _ever_ believe it. As long as you do…then I know that there's the possibility, even if it's extremely remote…that I could too."

"You want to?" she asked.

House subtly shrugged, thought for a moment and said, "I want to know that someone who isn't stupid…believes it."

"I just…need to forget about today for now. Deal with family bullshit this weekend, worry about work on Monday."

"Take off your top," he insisted.

"What?" she asked, surprised.

"We're forgetting about work. You like it when I talk. I'll talk, you do. Take off your top."

She looked at him suspiciously for the briefest of moments, then removed the garment, easily pulling it up over her head before she tossed it onto the kitchen table. Standing there, gloriously topless in front of him, she picked her glass back up and took another drink before she refilled it. Her thin shorts hung loosely, barely held up by the fullest part of her hips, the bright white waistband of her panties sticking out above the worn shorts. He stared at her for a while, patiently looking at what he hadn't seen for a few days.

"Now your shorts," House calmly demanded before refilling his own glass. "But leave on the panties."

She put her thumbs under the waistband of the shorts and tugged the sides alternatingly over the jut of each hip before she let them slip silently down her legs onto the floor. He stared at her nearly naked body and said clinically, "Two weeks is way too long to go without seeing you."

She smiled for a split second, but it was almost as if he could see her confidence building a little right before his eyes. He slid down from the counter and walked toward her bed, grabbing her hand on the way and bringing her with him. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he looked up at her in front of him and instructed, "Move closer, so I can touch you."

She stepped forward until she was standing between his legs, watching while his lips made contact with the flat part of her chest where her ribs met. He gently kissed her skin there, moving up toward the space on her chest that neared her heart. Although he avoided her breasts, he could see her nipples tightening into peaks from the anticipation and the feeling of the air moving over her. Her breath quickened slightly when his tongue slid down from the spot over her heart across the slope of her breast to her nipple. He didn't take it in his mouth, he just touched her nipple with the tip of his tongue, sliding around in slow concentric patterns.

Her hands involuntarily went for the back of his head and he stopped licking her skin, sitting back, his hands still on his thighs and shaking his head. "I'll tell you if I want you to touch me. Now slide your panties down your legs."

She pressed her hands completely flat over her hips, slipping her fingertips under the waistband and sliding the panties down while her hands remained in full contact with her body as he watched from inches away. When she was done, she moved her hands back to her sides, looking down at the way he returned to her breast, observing the sparing but enticing contact that he made with her. Desperately wanting more of him, her hands went to his shoulders and after a few moments began to slide to his head, and again he stopped, warning her with his look that she had to follow his direction. She folded her hands behind her back, both to remind herself not to touch him, and because of the way it pushed her breasts out toward his face.

He sighed his approval and then watched how she wiggled closer, moving her body even nearer to him, her way of exerting control over the situation. "Hold still," he cautioned, moving to the other breast and listening to her soft gasp and the subsequent sigh of relief when he began to offer the same attention to her other nipple. His chin pressed against her stomach, moving down her abdomen to her belly button. His lips and tongue kissed, pressed and tickled along her lower stomach while she fought to temper her reaction to him.

"You can take off my shirt," he offered and she immediately removed it. He leaned back, legs still hanging over the edge, "And my pants too…if you want."

She smiled a beautifully feminine, teasing smile while her fingers slipped open his belt and unzipped him with so much patience that he could hear each of the teeth of his zipper disengage. Once his pants were opened, she reached into his boxers and was quickly rebuked, "No, you can't touch me yet."

She furrowed her brow, unhappy with the limitations put upon her by him, but she pulled his pants off the rest of the way and stood up to await whatever was to come. "Come up here," he said as he leaned back fully, "I want to taste you."

Leaning down to his face, she tried to kiss him, but mere centimeters away, he stopped her, "Not yet." He helped her up over his body so that her knees were on either side of his face and he calmly folded his hands over his stomach. Her body was naturally open to him because of her position and he quickly dragged his tongue between her folds. "You are that turned on, already?" he asked, meeting her eyes with his own.

"I was this turned on half of the day," she said before surreptitiously reaching behind her back and palming his erection.

He hissed, unprepared for her touch, "I said no touching yet," he scolded playfully.

"I wanted to make sure you knew I wasn't the only one who is aroused."

"I did…actually notice how much you turn me on."

"But did you know I was this wet when you had me up against the door to your office?" she asked.

Before she could successfully wrest control of the situation from him entirely, he lapped at her clit with unexpected urgency, immediately ending her thoughts of verbalized teases and watching while she snapped under his influence and forgot all else. She was rocking against him while his tongue dipped deeply into her core or his lips surrounded and softly sucked her clit, and his hands couldn't remain passively on his stomach for long. His hands, like the rest of him, were compelled to adore her body, and for that she would always be grateful.

At that angle and receiving that attention, she was certain that every nerve in her body was somehow converging on the exact spots where he made contact with her. There were no other sensations, just the two of them in that moment. Her lithe body moved over him, the very sight of her was luxuriously stimulating. He backed off when she started to come, wanting to prolong the tease, to make her come while her body was wrapped around him, trapped underneath him.

He flipped her over, pulling off his own boxers quickly and hovering over her for a moment, looking at her disappointed face. "I won't leave you waiting for long," he said before finally kissing her.

She met his mouth eagerly, her body twisting underneath him to try to encourage him. He hooked his arms beneath both of her knees while still kissing her, and then eagerly pushed forward into her, the gasp of excitement and arousal that came from her lips sending pulses of desire through his body. She was snapped tightly around him, almost too tightly. "So you didn't decide to move on, during my long absence?" he asked jokingly against her mouth.

She barely shook her head, answering with completely sincerity, "No one else will ever feel like you."

He looked overcome for a moment, and tried to remember that he was the calm, cool one telling her what he wanted. "Wrap your legs around me. Tighter. I want to feel you around me," he said with a shaky voice.

She pinched his upper lip between her lip and tongue while she complied with his request. "How's that?"

He nodded, "And your arms. Tighter."

"I told you I don't want anyone else," she assured, almost as if reading the thoughts in his head, understanding that he wanted to feel as possessed by her as she was by him.

He wanted to hear every single thought that she had on that matter, every hope or dream that involved the two of them, and at the same time, he was hesitant to hear another word. He cleared his throat, his body running out of the patience that was holding him still, so he began to move shallowly.

"Can I fuck you? Do you want me to?" he asked, although his thrusts were already picking up speed and intensity.

"God, yes, I do…all of the time."

They were more frenzied at that, out of desire and lust, tenderness and fear, with whispered dirty words that focused on the physical desire to avoid mentions of feelings involving more emotionally affectionate sentiments. He could feel her breath on his ear and the words from her mouth, which excited both body and mind. Much like she had felt earlier, he felt as if all sensations in his body were centered exactly at the places where their bodies met. They were so coordinated, he began to wonder if he could actually feel the pleasure emanating from both of them, in some ways, almost experiencing her own feelings as well as his.

Like a man possessed by some force that was not his own, he was focused on making her feel better things, more things, wanting her to come with him, or at least before him because her sounds and touches were continuously nudging him to completion, and he never wanted to disappoint her like that. She shrieked out an impassioned prayer as she started to come, a prayer of both petition and appreciation. She professed her desire to continuously reach bliss with him, and he started to come with her with such abandoned that he truly did forget his name, his past and every single morsel of knowledge that was tucked in his brain except for her name. That one preserved piece of knowledge was the only word that escaped his lips.

He started to experience the world again moments later, unsure of how he rolled off of her but happy that he did. She was against him, still whispering words that he did not feel worthy of hearing, words that turned him on although he was still completely sated, arousing him in a way that was unfamiliar.

"Thanks for…being on my side," she said while she lay next to him hours later, her flat palm pressing against his chest. He gave her a strange look and she clarified, "Most people aren't. I know tons of people and yet I have few really good friends. No one else that would stand up for me in front of someone like Larson."

"People are jealous assholes. Your successes make them realize what complete fucking failures they are. And what you mean is that I'm the only person _stupid_ enough to stand up to Larson."

"You aren't the _only_ person who will stand up to her."

He stared up at the ceiling, pursing his lips in thought, "I know. You're stupid enough too."

She laughed softly. "Our first day working together…didn't go so well."

"Oh, I dunno…we didn't get fired!"

She laughed, "Your standards are impossibly high. Come on stud, I'm gonna sex you up for as many hours as I have you."

"I'm not complaining, but you have pretty much nightly access to me for the next six weeks."

"In a few hours…you'll meet my family. I don't know why you'd willingly remain after that."

"Larson doesn't scare me…you think your family will?"

"My mother…makes Larson look gentle, kindly and acquiescent."


	9. Wedding Eve

_A/N-Thank you to all who have reviewed: lenasti16, jaybe61, Boo's House, IHeartHouseCuddy, Truth, LapizSilkwood, JLCH, givemekevinbacon, Huddyphoric, jkarr, ikissedtheLaurie, dmarchl21, BJAllen815, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, Josam, Suzieqlondon, LiaHuddy, chebelle, HouseBroken and grouchysnarky. Thanks also to everyone who's following or has favorited._

* * *

-Wedding Eve-

Weddings were not House's thing, although he'd been to alarmingly few of them during his lifetime. There were a handful he had attended as a boy, a Marine wedding, House's father's superior, and a distant cousin of his mother's, but usually they lived too far away from the weddings of family or old friends to attend. As an adult, he'd appeared at a few for college friends, usually invited because the grooms wanted House to plan a bachelor party. Knowing the reason why they invited him, he often didn't bother with showing up for the wedding or he was too hung over to really notice what was going on at the actual ceremony anyway.

Cuddy had been to tons of weddings. She served as a bridesmaid for a few cousins and college friends, and even as a flower girl as a child. This wedding was different. Her only sibling, her sister Julia, was going to be married. Cuddy was the older of the two sisters and clearly the more driven one. Julia was not a woman desperate to become a housewife or a career woman. She finished an associate's degree in office management and was successful enough in her position, but work wasn't a driving force for her the way it was for the older Cuddy sister. When a young accountant named Joe joined the firm that was next door to Julia's office, a romance began in the hallway by the water fountain. By the time of the wedding, Julia was busy planning for a future with her husband and a few children.

Cuddy seldom felt comfortable at family gatherings, particularly once most of her cousins and her sister were all engaged or married. It was always a matter of minutes before they started to ask Cuddy about her love life. Sometimes she'd lie and pretend there was someone, sometimes she would tell them she just preferred to date until she found what she wanted and sometimes she'd tell them the truth: she didn't have the time to worry with dating. She had a few boyfriends, mostly before medical school, and she honestly worried that no man would be a good fit for her beyond casual dating. She was beautiful, and first, second and even third dates were plentiful, but relationships were few. She seldom met men that were interesting enough to go beyond a third date. House was seen as insufferable by many, but his 'come as you are' attitude seemed to suit her well. They were each seen as undateable by many, but seemed to accept each other as devotedly as others seemed to expect them to change.

As they grew closer to her family home, her mood deteriorated, becoming unhappier by the mile. Cuddy pulled up outside of a beautiful, well-manicured, suburban home surrounded by several nice cars. "We're ho-ome," Cuddy sighed.

"Didn't realize you were a victim of suburbia, Cuddy," House commented. "I kind of pictured you as a city girl."

"Nope," Cuddy responded. "No matter what they say to you, I am _not_ desperate to marry or have children, I _am_ willing to date men who are not Jewish and I am _not_ cursed with an irrational fear of the opposite gender."

"I was concerned that you would shun non-Jewish suitors…that is until you spent the last few weeks fucking me stupid. That eased my concern a little bit."

Cuddy came as close to smiling as she could while sitting outside of her parents' home, getting ready to attend a wedding.

"Of course," House added, "if I start to feel fearful again…I may need more sex to ease my nerves."

"OK," she nodded.

"I'm not going to take the word of crazy, old, Jewish women over you. Which I guess proves that I do take the word of crazy, _young_, Jewish women."

"My mom's side of the family isn't even Jewish," Cuddy answered as she stared at the door.

"Really?"

"Really. Trust me, the insanity is not limited to the Jewish women. Which is why it took forever just to pick a fucking day for the wedding…Saturday, Saturday night, Sunday…even that was a whole…deal. An angry side no matter what. This wedding has a minister, a rabbi and a JP."

"I heard a joke like that once. So your sister is trying to make everyone happy?"

"Except it's actually making no one happy. Sometimes even when the greatest of compromises is reached, people only see the parts they sacrificed, and not what they gained," Cuddy sighed. "Are you sure you want to do this? I'll have to bring you home some time…but I get it if you want to wait."

House looked at her a bit mischievously before he got out of his car, ready to go inside. He was curious about exactly where she came from, and he was about to find out. When they started up the sidewalk to the front door, there were already eyes peering out of various windows. "Did you tell them you were bringing me?" House asked, amused at the prospect of so many gawkers.

"I was going to mention it and then I didn't hear from you for a few days so I wasn't even sure if you were coming. The only thing worse than listening to them talk about how I can't find a guy, would be the discussion of how I had a guy but couldn't keep him."

Cuddy's childhood home was almost fifties-sitcom perfect. Everything inside was neat and tidy with photographs on almost every wall detailing decades of a family's existence. There were introductions, House doubted he'd remember any of the people's names, except for Cuddy's senile Great Aunt Edna, who looked right at House, giggled loudly and said, "Well look at this _tall_ drink of water," while she possessively grabbed his arm and tried to walk away with him.

They passed through what felt like waves of people to get to a large, bright kitchen. "Hi Mom," Cuddy said, walking over to an extraordinarily dignified and poised-looking woman standing by the kitchen counter.

Mother and daughter shared one of the most unfeeling, obligatory hugs House had ever seen before the older woman turned, a look of scrutiny on her face while she looked him over. "Talked someone into escorting you to the wedding?" Cuddy's mother asked her, while looking at House.

"Sort of, but not quite," Cuddy said, "House, this is my mother, Arlene Cuddy. Mom, this…is my boyfriend, Greg House."

"Boyfriend?" Arlene asked, turning to her daughter. "How long have you kept this little fact from us?"

"Not long," Cuddy answered.

Arlene looked him over again, shaking her head a bit and sighing a loudly judgmental sigh. "You finally have a boyfriend and you hide it?" Arlene asked. "I don't understand you."

"I'm not hiding it. I'm busy. We just started dating recently."

"I'll have someone get your luggage from the car. He can stay in the guest room with your cousins but he'll have to sleep on the floor."

Cuddy nodded, considering a comeback where she asked her mother why kids who were ten and eight wouldn't actually prefer to sleep on the floor. "Don't worry about it, Mom. We aren't staying here."

"You aren't staying here?"

"No. We're staying at a hotel," Cuddy said as she began picking at food left out on the counter for guests, handing a disposable plastic plate to House.

Arlene grabbed the arm of one of the boys running through the kitchen, "Go get Daniel." As the child disappeared, Arlene said to Cuddy, "So you don't know him long enough to tell us about him, but you do know him long enough to share a room with him. Strange the standards of the younger generation."

"You were the one who assumed that she meant we're staying in the same room and in the same bed," House said as he swallowed down something that he found to eat from the spread on the counter.

"And he talks too, finally. I suppose I should feel honored." Arlene said dryly.

"That I pointed out that _you_ were the one who immediately assumed we were shacking up for the weekend?"

"That you speak to me," Arlene said with irritation.

"You didn't give him time to speak until now," Cuddy said calmly.

"Probably for the best, if those are the kinds of things he says. Your sister has always been wiser with men. She waited for a ring." Arlene turned to House, "Lisa is very intelligent, but doesn't seem to have much common sense. She seems to think that men will stay around after getting what they want…without ever giving her what she wants."

Just as Cuddy started to think she might go completely crazy, House asked her, "Chocolate cake? World peace? A truly everlasting gobstopper? What is it that you _really _want?"

He was shocked when she actually smirked a bit.

"Marriage. Or at least some sort of commitment," Arlene supplied. "When I was younger, you kept men out of your bed until they bought a ring."

House answered simply, "I don't know, your daughter seems articulate enough to me. I think if she wanted that, she'd figure out how to communicate that effectively. I'm also really sure that if she wanted that, she could stand in the middle of the hospital and announce those intentions, and she'd have five offers by the end of the day."

Cuddy almost shook her head, surprised by what he said, and trying to think of a way to respond.

"With flattery like that, does that mean you're schtupping my daughter?" Arlene asked.

"Mom!" Cuddy said loudly, looking around the room at the volume of people within earshot.

"It's a legitimate question. You are my daughter, as your mother, I have a right to know."

"Which daughter?" House asked.

Arlene scowled, her dislike of the man in front of her growing exponentially. "Hopefully the one you came here with."

"Not right now, no. I don't usually sleep with women in front of their mothers. But…if you're really into that, we can talk more about it later."

Cuddy grabbed House's arm, pleading with him to not antagonize her mother any further, and then, just when Arlene seemed prepared to say something, Cuddy saw House jerk to one side, looking over his shoulder to find Great Aunt Edna. "You're saving a dance for me at the wedding, right?" she asked House.

"Absolutely," House nodded, smirking openly at the old woman who winked before shuffling away. "Now I see the family resemblance. She slapped my ass," House whispered to Cuddy.

"Aunt Edna?" Cuddy asked.

"Yup," House answered, looking as if he was prepared to say more when a man walked into the room. All conversation stopped merely from his presence.

"You needed me, Mother?" the man asked Arlene.

"Yes. This is your daughter's new boyfriend," Arlene said. "And his smart mouth."

The man went to Cuddy first, offering the warmth in a hug that wasn't there when Arlene hugged her. He smiled at his daughter, kissing her cheek and whispering a welcome before looking at House.

"Daniel Cuddy," he said, extending a hand to House.

Daniel Cuddy was not a large man. He was nearly six feet tall, medium build, black hair with a slightly receding hairline and grey eyes that his daughter obviously inherited. He was warmer and friendlier than Arlene, and actually smiled at House. In spite of all of the evidence that he was the more welcoming parent, House realized that he was actually far more serious, _almost_ intimidating, and very few people almost intimidated House.

Cuddy's father politely shook House's hand, exchanged a few, brief words and introductions, and simply observed. It was as if the Cuddy patriarch was attempting to look right through the new addition to his daughter's life. After a few moments of polite enough conversation, Daniel said, "Why don't you come to the Bachelor party tonight after rehearsal? Lisa will be busy, you could join us."

House shrugged, "I'm fine, I'll wait at the hotel."

"Are you really going to turn down a Bachelor party?" the older man asked.

Immediately House considered the possible implications of this decision. Were they trying to see how he behaved outside of Cuddy's presence? Did they want to see how he acted when drinking or in front of strippers? The entire thing seemed like a trap. House finally said, "I've been to a lot of bachelor parties…never one where the father of the bride came along."

Daniel smiled, "And that makes you feel nervous? Disappointed?"

"Confused," House answered.

"So you'll accept?"

"Sure," House agreed. "Why not?"

"Well, after the party he's not coming back here," Arlene said. "Our _daughter _has decided she's staying in a hotel. The entire family is here…and she decides she needs to flaunt exactly how liberal her values are."

"This place is full. There's barely enough room as it is. Plus, we're staying at the hotel where the wedding is being held," Cuddy added, "Hardly a strange thing."

"I think it's more the company you keep than the location. Even your sister is staying here tonight," Arlene explained.

Daniel looked at Cuddy and said authoritatively, "Lisa, dear, go to your room. You're grounded." Arlene grumbled wordlessly while he smiled, "Everything will be fine, Lisa's an adult. I'll take Greg out tonight and get to know him a little better while our girls enjoy a last evening of freedom."

"Too bad Lisa didn't get to know him first," Arlene sniped.

"Hey," Cuddy began.

House interrupted, standing almost threateningly in front of Arlene, "I met your daughter eight years ago. It took her that long to agree to go on a date with me. She's hardly a slut."

"I didn't call my daughter a _slut_," Arlene said, refusing to be threatened in the slightest by the much taller, much younger man.

"You implied it. Co-workers usually don't call sluts the 'ice princess.'"

"Wait," Cuddy said, touching his arm, "Who called me that?"

House turned to the side to engage her, "It's not important, I'm just…trying to explain that…"

"We'll give him a chance, right?" Daniel asked Arlene. "After all, he's at least making an attempt to defend her honor."

Daniel's reaction seemed to be an attempt to appease Arlene. House guessed that Cuddy's father was trying to prevent all-out war, because the older man certainly didn't look particularly taken with his daughter's date. Judging by what little House could tell about Arlene Cuddy, the woman certainly wouldn't surrender easily in a fight. Daniel and Arlene disappeared for a moment, greeting guests who had just arrived.

"Harriott," House said, before he could even see Cuddy's face, knowing that she wouldn't allow her question to go unanswered. "But I only brought it up because I was trying to-"

"I know exactly what you were trying to do," she said, completing his thought.

He cringed while his eyes sought her face, concerned that she was angry. "You don't look angry," he said.

"I'm not angry. Thank you for trying, but I wouldn't mess with Mom too much," Cuddy answered, "She's meaner than she looks."

"Yea, her look is so warm and fluffy."

Cuddy's look was intense and seemed almost appreciative. She studied his face for a moment and suddenly seemed possessed. "We have to go."

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now. I have to get changed before the rehearsal," Cuddy said, grabbing his hand and pulling him through the crowd, casually introducing him to several people as they went. Just as they got to the door, Cuddy turned back to her mother, "We'll see you guys at the rehearsal."

"You're leaving already?" Arlene asked.

"I have to get checked in and change," Cuddy said, closing the front door and dragging House out to the passenger side of his own car.

"Not that I'm complaining, but can't you just change here?" House asked.

"No way," she answered stiffly, speeding off moments later.

She barely spoke as they drove a few miles down the road to the hotel. Once they were inside, they checked in as quickly as she could make it happen. The hotel was nice, far nicer than anywhere he typically stayed, he thought as they walked to the large glass elevators at the back of the lobby. They located their room with ease, Cuddy opening the door and pushing him inside. "You sure that you're OK with me going to a Bachelor party?" he asked.

"Hunh?" she responded, unbuttoning her jeans without pretense.

"The uh…Bachelor…what are you doing?"

"We have ten minutes, twelve at the most," she said, yanking her shirt and bra off more quickly than he thought he could, and he knew he was getting really good at disrobing her through committed practice. She was standing in front of him, almost immediately opening his jeans, pushing them partway down his body and slipping a hand into his boxers.

"So you think you can just…"

"I can…and so can you…obviously," she said with a proud grin.

"OK," he said not at all unhappily, grabbing the bottom of his shirt.

She started kissing him, stepping backwards to a bench. "God, I love how easy you are to turn on."

"I'm rubber and you're glue," he started trying to tease until it turned into a sigh again when she kissed him, biting his lip, slowly scraping her nails down his back and demonstrating, as she so often seemed to, exactly what her intentions were.

"You are the horniest woman I've ever met," he said as if it was the greatest compliment ever paid to a woman by a man.

"I haven't even reached my peak," she replied, casually playing with his body, taking a moment to appreciate their situation.

"I think you might think about sex almost as often as I do. Are you sure you're a woman?"

Wordlessly she grabbed his hand and put it between her legs, an indignant look on her face. After he smirked at her response, she asked, "Satisfied?"

"Getting there," he admitted.

She moved his body back onto the bench until he was flat and she stepped over it so she could stand on her tiptoes, straddling the furniture and his body.

"I'm gonna have to start training," he suggested.

"What do you think this is?" she smirked before she balanced over him and slowly rocked her hips to accept his length.

He groaned and she was quiet and still, remaining for a moment before she began to gracefully move over him. "It's been a few hours. I needed you," she sighed before she began to move in earnest.

"You always like this?" he barely managed to ask, pushing his torso up with his hands.

"Not always. Why?" she responded, slowing with a slightly offended look on her face.

For a few seconds, he worried that she was going to leave him there like that. He took her face in one hand, "I like how you are. It's my favorite."

She smiled softly, "Maybe I just like doing it with you."

Then she began moving again. There was more need than tenderness, more desire than affection while they fucked like a couple who'd been separated for years instead of hours. She approached sex with him that day with a vigor that seemed to border on the aggressive and he loved every second of her inflated desire.

When they were finished, she looked at him, still with a look of hunger, "I can't wait to get back here tonight."

He reached for her, and she pecked his lips quickly. "Sorry, handsome, I have to go. I promise more later."

"I'm gonna defend your honor almost constantly!" he jokingly declared as she disappeared from the room.

She was in the shower in seconds, quickly getting ready for the rehearsal. When she stepped out of the shower, she winced slightly when she saw him.

"You want it again, don't you?" he boasted.

"Actually yea," she flirted, "But I was looking at your lip."

House looked in the mirror, tracing a small, darkened area where she had bitten his lip. "Oh…you do know I'm hanging out with your daddy tonight, right?"

"Sorry," she said insincerely. "He won't ask. If he does, just say it happened while you were bringing in the luggage."

"That I clearly carry with my teeth?" he asked incredulously.

"I guess," she smirked. "Want some lipstick?"

"Oh yea," he said sarcastically. "That would be great for hanging out with your father."

"No one is gonna notice that tiny, little mark. And you don't have to go."

"It reflects more on you than it does on me. I'm the victim here," he raised his eyebrows while he whined.

She shrugged, "If anyone asks, and they won't, tell them you bumped it on the car or something, I can't change it now and I doubt any of the guys in my family will be staring at your lips."

"You really don't mind…me going to a bachelor party?"

"Nope," she said, walking out of the bathroom to get dressed. "Hurry and get ready if you want to come down to the rehearsal."

He could see a giggle in her body language. "There aren't going to be strippers, are there?"

Cuddy was trying to dress as quickly as possible. "That party was held last week by Joe's friends. This is the fake one that Dad can come to."

"Seriously? Then what are we doing?"

"Some game thing for overgrown boys. You'll have fun, but you won't be shoving bucks in bikinis," she snickered.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Shoving bucks in bikinis."

"What? This is wrong…this is so wrong. A marriage built on such a shaky foundation can never survive!" House vehemently protested.

"Not my problem. Not my marriage. Let Julia worry about it. Besides, Great Aunt Edna set it up."

"Is she really going?" House asked with some excitement. He really found the senile, old woman the coolest one in the family, apart from Cuddy.

"No…she's saving her dollars for your dance tomorrow. It's just me and Julia and a few of her friends."

"So this is how women feel when their men go to Bachelor parties?"

"I guess."

"I don't like it. Are you going to be dancing with those bikini wearers…touching things that bulge?"

"You know me, if it bulges, I touch it."

"Not that I care," House answered, "I just figured, if you are doing this now, it's setting a precedent for things I may want to do in the future."

"Getting your dress fitted and your nails done?"

"But you said-"

"I joked. The wedding is tomorrow. We're out of time. Again, I'm sure I'll hear about how that is somehow my fault, because I couldn't get off of work for longer. Are you coming down for the rehearsal?"

* * *

House went down to the rehearsal, sitting near the back, watching Cuddy mingle with her sister and friends, so much more relaxed than earlier at her parents' home. The women were standing by the front while the person leading the rehearsal was showing the children what to do during the ceremony. Cuddy was talking to her sister, who was playing with a folded program. Whatever Cuddy had said, Julia abruptly dropped her paper on the floor and turned to Cuddy. Julia looked shocked, asking question after question while Cuddy had a grin on her face. Cuddy stood behind her sister, put her hands on the future bride's shoulders, and turned her toward the back of the large room. Cuddy pointed at House, whispering something as Julia stared, mouth agape. Cuddy waved at him and tried to hide an almost embarrassed grin. House nodded a response and felt a strange, warming sensation at the realization that he had been taken to meet someone's family, introduced proudly, and from the way things looked, bragged about between sisters.

After the rehearsal, Cuddy formally and somewhat proudly introduced her sister to him. After Julia returned to the important business of preparing for a wedding, Cuddy whispered a goodbye and he asked, "Can I come to your party with you? I could help you try on your dress."

"I'll be done down here in about two hours. Have fun at your Bachelor party," she said, kissing him innocently, much to his surprise given the audience that was trying to look like it wasn't watching them. "I'll see you when you're done with the boys."


	10. Out of Order

A/N-Thank you so much to all who are reading and all who have reviewed since the last chapter: JLCH, jaybe61, Josam, lenasti16, OldSFfan, ikissedtheLaurie, IHeartHouseCuddy, givemekevinbacon, chebelle, Huddyphoric, LapizSilkwood, Guest, dmarchl21, Suzieqlondon, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, IWuvHouse, LoveMyHouse, Fran, IAlwayswantToKissYou, BJAllen815 and Guest.

I'll have the next chapter up sometime during the weekend.

* * *

-Out of Order-

In theory, the Bachelor party should have been fun. There was a full bar, beautiful women serving drinks in skin-tight clothes, and lots of games to entertain the inner child of every visitor. House played a few arcade games and shot a game of pool with Julia's fiancée. Joe and his friends were ridiculously irritating, bragging about attention from the waitresses who were obviously trying to work the slightly drunken crowd for much larger tips. The waitresses were gorgeous and looking at them was certainly a nice way to pass some time, but the partiers were delusional if they thought that the women actually found any of them half as irresistible as the men thought they were. Second turn through the second game, House looked right at Joe, smirked, and decisively slammed the eight ball into the nearest side pocket, saying calmly, "Damn, looks like I lost," before he found a quiet spot at the bar.

One of the waitresses came up to him after he sat for a few minutes, placing a hand high on his thigh and whispering, "You look like you're having a bad day."

"Not really"

"Maybe you'd like some company. Want to go out after my shift?"

House looked at her and grumbled, "I don't have that much cash on me."

"Not that kind of date," she said, laughing at what she thought was a joke. "A regular date. Hit a diner, eat some food, if things go well…dessert back at my place."

"I'm not that easy."

"Are you religious or are you here because some girl dumped you?" she asked as if he had presented her with a challenge.

House sneered out of the corner of his eye and slammed back the remainder of his drink, "I'm not that easy to fool, you moron. Your trap won't work. So tell whoever paid you to try to take me home, to try again later."

"You are seriously weird!"

"And yet you have your hand on my leg."

She looked down at her hand, withdrawing it suddenly. "Won't happen again, jerk," she spat as she huffed away.

A few minutes later, Cuddy's father sat on the stool next to House, offering a cigar. House took it, running the cigar under his nose before he turned to look at the older man. "Let's speed this up, shall we?"

"If that's what you want," Daniel nodded, looking disapprovingly at House's lip. It didn't feel like they were off to a great start.

"I'm a huge asshole. You will not like me, so I'm not even seeking your approval, or hoping that one day we'll go sailing together. I very rarely go home to meet mom and dad…in fact I haven't in roughly ten years. I don't do family gatherings with grace, which means that your daughter is probably a little bit crazy to even allow me to come with her. We should just accept the fact that you and I will never get along, and that you will always feel that your daughter deserves much better."

"What kind of father would I be if I didn't always think that my daughter deserves more. I think Julia could do better too. Always have."

House turned slowly, "What?"

"I'm not sure which man I'd choose, if I could choose any. For Lisa, I thought that perhaps she'd be married to her career for a long time." Daniel looked over out of the corner of his eye, leaning slightly closer like he was telling House a secret, "I thought she was too good for that too."

House wrinkled his brow, looking to the bartender for another drink and sitting in silence for a few minutes, uncertain of what to say to the man next to him.

"You know my Lisa, very literally, went out with the captain of the football team in high school. Did she tell you that?"

"No, I think she's had some glory days after high school to relive."

"Mother was pretty impressed."

"Guys who call their wives 'mother' really freak me out," House stated. "Just seems sort of Oedipal."

"So Lisa told you I'm a psychiatrist."

House squinted his eyes shut, "She just said doctor, but I had my suspicions."

"Anyway," the older man continued, "Arlene was pretty excited about the captain of the football team. Lisa was a freshman, he was a senior. I worried. Arlene thought he was a nice kid. He talked about volunteering at his church, singing on the choir, and Arlene said he could convert if he hung around so she didn't even worry about that."

"So she's impressed by men in positions of real power?"

Daniel chuckled, "I guess. Lisa was a bit awkward in elementary and middle school. Then she hit high school, and she became this beautiful young woman overnight. I don't think she knew how to take it. She went from being teased to stared at in an instant. Arlene assumed she'd always be this bookish young thing and the next thing we knew, boys were calling all of the time. She was happy for her daughter. Then one day, Lisa comes home after some event at school. It was obvious she'd been crying. When Arlene asked her about Scott, that's the football player, she told us to never mention him again. She wouldn't tell any of us a thing, not even Julia. I was horrified. I was worried he or his teammates had…taken advantage of her. Arlene started trying to keep every unrelated male in the world away from her. Lisa started hanging out with this dorky little guy, and we were baffled. He wasn't her boyfriend, but they were together a lot. Then one day, he was gone too, same story, she wouldn't tell us what happened. I'm a goddamn psychiatrist and I couldn't figure out what was wrong, or figure out how to get her to talk to someone. She used to tell me everything. I didn't care whether or not she told _me_, but I wanted her to talk to _someone_. She keeps her cards so close to her chest it's a wonder even she sees them…but she imagines that she's an open book to anyone who wants to look."

House looked sort of ill, which was exactly the look Daniel had expected to see. "The football player? She never…told you want happened? You never found out?" House asked.

"No, she didn't. But the dorky little guy did. He grew up into his own, he's a doctor as well by this point. We were at the same bar mitzvah about three years ago. We started talking. All those years I assumed that Scott used her or cheated on her…did something horrible to _her_. And I was wrong. Mark, the dorky kid, told me that the football team bullied the hell out of him, specifically Lisa's boyfriend made his life hell. The overgrown ape didn't do anything directly to Lisa, but she was so angry that he was picking on this kid that she dumped the jock…and hung out with the dorky kid. Shortly after that, Mark started telling everyone Lisa was sleeping with him. That's how he repaid her for sticking up for him. She found out about it…because he told half of the school. He admitted to me that it was a lie that he later regretted."

"I'm sure he did."

"He laughed it off, like a normal schoolboy prank and even then he was trying to get me to give her his number. Pass on his apologies because he saw her when she came home and she wouldn't talk to him. So I'm not going to welcome you with open arms. I'm not going to treat you like crap either. I mean, the captain of the football team-choir boy was a bully, the dorky kid just used her for bragging rights, maybe the guy who says he's a jerk is the right one for her."

House nodded, finally lighting the cigar given to him.

"Or," Daniel added, "in a year or two I'll be telling this story to a different guy, adding your type to the type of men who have screwed her over."

House just nodded, no reaction, no attempt to defend himself, just acceptance of her father's position.

"When my wife suggested that my daughter was…somewhat indiscriminate with men…you looked like you were so angry. Almost too angry," Daniel stated.

He waited but House still didn't respond, so Daniel continued, "Arlene is trying to protect Lisa. I know it doesn't look like that, but in her way, that's what she's trying to do."

"Right," House sighed, "by complaining that she doesn't date and then calling her a slut if she does. That makes _perfect _sense."

"Why did it bother you when she suggested that Lisa was indiscriminate?"

"I don't do shrinks."

"Fine," Daniel responded. "It's the one reason I'm sitting here, sharing my best cigars with you after only meeting you a few hours ago. Because that's how it makes me feel when people suggest that. My daughter and I share this hope that somehow there is a sense of justice in the world just waiting to be found. She fights for it. Ideally she'd find someone who would look out for her too, from time to time. Or even if he doesn't look out for her, he won't be one of the people trying to crush every last bit of happiness and idealism out of her. If she ceases to believe in the things she holds dear…she'll never recover. I think she could survive almost anything, but losing all hope…would destroy her."

House nodded, lost in thought, remembering how Cuddy fought for his job, felt anger when she saw his x-rays, was so hurt when Larson's personality came forward. He couldn't help but feel that Daniel Cuddy did have a pretty decent idea about who his daughter was.

The two seemed relatively content in their silence, listening to the loud people drinking behind them.

"Did you really think I'd fall for the easy dessert lady?" House asked eventually.

"What?"

"That woman, flirting with me…offering me _dessert_ after her shift? The one you _paid_, just to prove to your daughter that I'm slime."

"I didn't do that," Daniel chuckled. "I'd never do something like that. Why would I want to prove that to her?"

"So she'd know the truth."

"Sorry, Greg. I think the dessert lady actually liked you."

"Hunh," House commented noncommittally.

Daniel nodded. "Why pursue my daughter for eight years? There are lots of women who are looking for all different kinds of men."

"If you want a romantic answer to ease your mind, there isn't one. Stars in the heavens didn't align, angels didn't sing when she spoke my name."

"So you just like the way she looks?" Daniel said, and House could hear the hurt under an attempted non-judgmental tone.

"No," House said, an answer that was simply an honest response to a stimulus.

"Then why? If it isn't romantic, what is it?"

"I just couldn't…forget."

"Forget?"

"Her. It was something I just…"

House waited for further questions or disapproval, some form of response from Daniel Cuddy that the younger man would likely find irritating or stupid or antiquated. Daniel stood, "Well, better than stars or singing angels anyway. I have to run to the smoke shop next door, get another cigar. I gave you Joe's." They heard Joe and his friends loudly mocking someone on TV and Daniel sighed, "Not that he can tell a decent cigar anyway."

* * *

After another hour at the bar, House was done with the Bachelor party. Daniel came back after he bought another cigar and sat next to him, but neither said much of anything, staring in the direction of a TV without actually watching it. Both men were content in their thoughts, in some ways well-suited to sit near each other. When House decided he wanted to go back to the hotel, Daniel offered him a ride, he was going to take the other men at the party home eventually, but House wanted to walk. It was just under a mile from the bar to the hotel, just enough cool night air to clear his head of any remaining fuzziness from alcohol. When he got to their room, he found a note that Cuddy was waiting for him downstairs in the hotel bar.

Her hand went to the back of her neck when she felt the strangest shiver. Her sister was drunk and the two other bridesmaids were _really_ drunk. Cuddy was pleasantly tipsy but didn't want to be drunk. She craved her time with him and she knew it. The quiet space in the back of her head reminded her often that she was far too hooked on the man she was seeing. It reminded her of so many promises that she'd made to herself over the years to avoid getting too emotionally involved with a guy. When she felt a chill again, she turned and saw him. Her lips drew upward just a little when she realized the cause of her body's reaction. He was sitting at the other end of the bar, watching her.

She put her chin in her hand and leaned against the bar, subtly watching him in return. The women with her were all laughing, happy and drunk and oblivious to the intense interaction that one member of their party was experiencing. She signaled with a welcoming finger for him to come over and he shook his head, he wanted to stay right where he was. She thought he wanted to play a game, but in truth he couldn't stand the thought of a single other social interaction that wasn't solely with her, because he'd been surrounded by familial encounters for most of the day.

Her chin still in her hand, her fingers were a fraction of an inch from her lips and he wanted to be those fingers. Part of him chastised himself for the fact that he wasn't imagining her going down on him, he wasn't picturing her lips hovering just above his cock like almost any other straight man would be thinking if they were him. He wanted his fingers to be where hers were, to trace the shape of her mouth, to move across the dark, full flesh of her lips with the slightest touches before bringing her mouth to his.

Then both of them snapped out of their long distance connection when one of the bridesmaids slapped Cuddy's arm, "Girl, what's wrong with you? You need another drink?"

Cuddy shook her head, denying any problem, and then Julia turned to where she thought her sister may have been looking and started to giggle. Drunkenly Julia muttered, "Lisa's finally got a man willing to date both her and her career. He doesn't mind when you insist on an attending physician and a lawyer in your bedroom?"

Cuddy shrugged and nodded, trying to accept the joke for what it was, a drunken and ill-thought attempt at humor. The woman next to Cuddy giggled, "We hear your idea of foreplay is putting those cold, metal, theth-eth-oscope thingies on your nipples."

"Yes, that's very funny," Cuddy said dryly, offering a half-hearted laugh to attempt to take the joke well, "and you can _all_ shut the fuck up."

They snickered for a minute, seemed to calm down, and then one more girl added, "I hear she's so uptight she wipes his prick with those alcohol pads before she'll have sex with him."

The three all erupted in laughter and Cuddy leaned over the bar, grabbing the phone and dialing her parents' home number. While she waited for someone to answer she nodded, "It's true, I'm _extremely_ uptight, constantly clinical and frigid. Which is obviously the case, because…_I'm_ the only one with a guy who is here, waiting for me instead of down at that bar staring at strange tits. Remind me, ladies, where are your guys again?"

"Leese, we're joking," Julia said.

"Dad?" Cuddy asked into the receiver, "The girls are ready for their ride, they'll be waiting right inside the lobby doors."

Cuddy stood up, smiled at Julia and said, "I'd tell you guys to get some fluids so you don't feel like shit tomorrow…might even have a few tips for preventing hangovers, but that would be too clinical and I have a whole, _huge_ box of alcohol prep pads that I'm just _dying_ to use."

"Leese, sit down," the one woman urged, "you can take a joke, can't you?"

"Definitely. That's why I joked with you in return. Hilarious! Mom or Dad or someone will be here to pick you up in a few minutes. Have a nice night."

Cuddy handed them their purses and instructed them to wait by the doors, it would only take a few minutes for their ride to arrive.

"What was that about?" House asked when she came to his side.

"Just more uptight Lisa jokes, I'm sure it irritates you."

"The jokes?"

"No…how I am. Uptight, cold…"

"They just don't know you like I do. You could have sex with them. Then they'd know how un-frigid you are."

Cuddy giggled, "Sounds like a plan."

"Women are jealous of you, Cuddy. Some men too, probably, but for different reasons. You're hot, smart, accomplished, bossy-"

"I am not _bossy_," she countered.

"You are. Care to discuss our pre-rehearsal quickie?"

"That's different."

"I like your kind of bossy," he whispered. "It's confident. I like confident. But you also sometimes let go…let me take control. I like that too. I wasn't suggesting you were unable to let go. You also skipped hot, smart and accomplished…I said all of those things too."

"Are you drunk?"

"No," he responded quickly. "Not at all. Perfectly sober. Which thing do you think is a drunken lie?"

"None of them. It's just…you-"

"Hard to believe the lovely Lisa Cuddy is finally back home…" someone interrupted.

Cuddy turned, "Oh god," she said nervously, "Ron…hi."

"You look great," the man said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. "Your dad said you were here. I rode along to pick up your sister," Ron turned when Daniel came closer.

Cuddy whispered to House while Ron was occupied, "Please, go along with whatever I say and I will answer every single one of your questions later."

House tried to say something but it was too late, Ron was back. He was older, tall and fit, classically dashing, with a neatly trimmed beard and wide brown eyes.

"How've you been? And how's Betty?" Cuddy asked, over accentuating the woman's name.

"I'm OK. I've been better. Betty and I are finally divorcing after years of prolonging the inevitable," Ron answered. "So tell me…how are _you_?" he asked in a very personal way while he took her hand and held it between his.

Cuddy seemed uncomfortable, shifting in her seat, looking around. "I'm good," she said as she pulled her hand back from his and patted House's shoulder, "This is my fiancée, Greg."

"Your fiancée?" Ron asked, shocked. "Your dad said you were seeing someone new…he didn't say anything about…"

"Because I just asked her," House interrupted. "Tonight."

"And I, obviously, said yes. Give us a chance to talk to my family before you say anything," Cuddy asked as she smiled at House with an appreciative look for his quick response and the fact that he didn't huff, scoff or openly guffaw at her introduction.

"I didn't even get her a ring yet," House added. "Have to have that before we can tell her family. Her mother actually mentioned rings several times today. It's like an obsession. Right?"

"That's quick," Ron commented.

"When you find what you want, why screw around?" House asked, grabbing what he could reach of Cuddy's ass as she sat.

"I was hoping to talk you into dinner while you're here," Ron hinted.

"Can't," Cuddy said, too loudly and too quickly while she leaned her shoulder toward House's chest. "Going home tomorrow after the wedding, then we have to get back to work. We're working on this pilot program-"

"You work together?" Ron asked.

"Actually, he's my boss," Cuddy said, immediately regretting the admission.

"Wow, Lisa, I'm…" Ron looked like he was processing information and considering appropriate responses. "I'm really happy for you," he said genuinely. "I am really glad that…things are going well for you."

"Thanks," Cuddy smiled, relieved at his easy and kind response.

"If you ever need someone to talk to," Ron offered.

"I appreciate that," Cuddy nodded.

Ron helped her off of the stool and offered a full hug. At the last moment, he brought his hands together low on Cuddy's back, rubbing from her low-back to mid-back and then coming around to her sides, holding the bottom of her ribs in his hands. The gesture was a bit too familiar and just a little flirtatious, but what caught House's attention the most was the eager way that Cuddy removed Ron's hands from her body and she wriggled back to get away from his touch. Ron held out a hand to shake House's, which House avoided, putting one arm around Cuddy and filling his free hand with his glass.

Cuddy's father called for Ron after directing the three remaining members of the bridal party to the car. Ron nodded at Cuddy, "Maybe we can talk more tomorrow. I am…so happy for you. Greg, take care, pal."

House nodded, staring ahead, trying to piece together what he could about what had just happened. As Ron walked away, House chuckled, "That was fast…I knew you wanted to put me in the bag but..."

The second Ron was gone from sight, Cuddy dropped her head, covering her face with her hands, "Oh my god, House, I am …so sorry. I don't even know why I said that. I will fix this. I just…panicked and-"

"It's fine, Cuddy, use whatever excuses you think you need to," House teased.

She groaned, "I am so embarrassed. I hope you aren't…feeling uncomfortable or like I'm trying to trap you."

"I am _completely_ panicking right now," House said sarcastically. "But, you told me you would tell me whatever I want to know. Now spill it."

"Spill what?" Cuddy asked with attempted innocence, hoping that he had forgotten her promises of disclosure and meeting his look of extreme incredulity.

"There's obviously a reason for the panic. I want to know what it is."

"OK," Cuddy nodded. "Ron and my father have been friends forever. One year, Ron offered to come pick me up from school. He went to Michigan…thought it would be fun to check out his old alma mater. He planned this little road trip, we always got along well enough. Classes ended two days earlier, things were shutting down. So I took him around campus and we checked everything out. He told me stories, talked about school and life."

Cuddy took a sip of her drink and exhaled slowly. House leaned forward, "That does _not_ sound like a reason for an impromptu engagement."

"I'm working on it. This is between us, House. You can't talk to anyone about this."

"You don't even have to say that."

She smiled at him and said in one breath, nearly with the speed of an auctioneer, "At the end of the day, he bought us a bottle of wine, we went back to my dorm room, started talking about our love lives and had sex."

House's eyes went wide while he listened, nodding slowly, "Are you serious?"

"Yes"

"What a creep. He slept with his buddy's kid in her college dorm room after getting her drunk?"

"I wasn't drunk."

"Sounds like you were probably pretty drunk."

"I wasn't," she insisted. "It happened one time…and then afterwards he felt horrible about it and it felt…really uncomfortable. We got up, got ready and went home. Nothing like being stuck in a car for fifteen hours with someone you just had an awkward sexual encounter with. There are only so many times you can sip a drink and fiddle with the radio. I mean…obviously the sex wasn't awkward. _After_ the sex was extremely awkward."

"Why 'obviously'? That guy was good?" he asked, looking wounded.

"Yea," she shrugged. "Good. This is uncomfortable enough without you getting weird on me. I didn't say it was amazing or that I was dying to do it again."

"He's still a creep."

"He was separated from his wife…I was telling him about how I had…really horrible luck with men…we were sympathizing over broken hearts. It made sense at the time. And then it didn't."

"Are you…interested in him now that he's single?" House asked stiffly.

"Oh, obviously," she scoffed, "That's why I told him we're engaged. That's ridiculous question. I'm not interested in him."

"He's interested in you."

"I know that. The last few times I saw him…once I was older, in med school, he suggested that we try dating, quietly, just to see how it went…see if it was worth the uproar it would likely cause. And I said no. I have always said no after that one time."

"Once you were older? When did that happen?"

Cuddy took a drink, looked around the room, traced her finger on the rim of the glass and mentioned something about a photograph beside the bar, but disregarded his question.

"Are you ignoring me?" he pressed.

"No," Cuddy said, and tried to respond with complete disinterest, "End of freshman year. Ancient history."

House sat back, quickly putting together the pieces, "Right after me."

Cuddy didn't respond.

"So I was one of the guys you were probably talking about who treated you like crap."

"It wasn't like that. I just…mentioned that I have really bad luck with men. When I was younger, in high school, I thought it was because guys are jerks. It wasn't until I got older that I realized that…I am the only common denominator between all of those guys. So likely it isn't them that's the problem. It's me."

"You know that's not true…you have to remove me from that equation, you can't use me to prove that theory. I would have stuck around."

"I already did remove you from the equation," she flirted, "when came to the clinic, stuck around and then showed up in Larson's office the other day. That doesn't make my statement any less true. You just happen to like hanging around a woman who other men find it wise to stay away from."

"Hanging around? I thought I was doing more than that."

"Obviously"

"After all, we're engaged."

Cuddy laughed, covering her face again "I am so sorry. I will fix this…"

"Wait until after the wedding. It isn't a big deal."

"Thank you for taking that so well. I half expected you to spit your drink across the room. I don't know what happened. I just…reacted with the first thing in my head."

"It's fine. I'm hoping that means you prefer me to him."

"I think I prefer you to pretty much anyone."

"Me too. Or…the opposite…meaning I prefer you. We all already know I really prefer me to anyone else."

She smiled, "Egomaniac."

He answered, thoughtfully glancing down at the grainy wood surface of the bar, "We just do things all out of order…we thumb our noses at convention…eschew standard mating rituals."

Cuddy was smiling widely, "It's true…sex before the first date…"

"I was actually really fond of _that_ change we made."

"Me too," she said, staring at him in a deeply affectionate way. "Makes the actual first date seem more genuine."

"It does. So we have sex first…and then, just to buck tradition again, we get engaged _before_ I tell you I love you."

She stared at him, she wasn't even breathing, their eyes were locked. She couldn't tell if there were waters being tested or if he was joking or if he was actually saying what she hoped he was saying. There wasn't even a hint of joviality in his tone, and his expression certainly didn't make it seem to be a joke. She began to speak, her voice cloudy and raspy as she tried to form the first few words, "Also before I had a chance to tell you that too. I mean, obviously…I can't reciprocate a statement that…hasn't been made."

"Or, if we were to assume that would be the case, that I would be the person to say it first, we could mix things up yet again, and you could say it first."

She nodded, "Yea, I mean," she swallowed hard, "I'm not sure what you would consider convention here. Me saying it first or you saying it first. We could consider traditional gender roles in a relatively male-dominated society, or stereotypes about gender and attachment. There really isn't a clear rule about which would be considered _conventional_. But I'd say…both options are on the table."

"Are they?" he asked, licking the dryness from his lips and breaking eye contact to search her face before settling back on their locked gazes, "_Are_ both options on the table?"

"Sure, to me. What about to you?"

"Yea," he started awkwardly until the moment was broken up by the bartender.

"Folks," the bartender said, "I'm sorry, hotel bar closes early. So this is last call. You guys want anything else?"

"No," Cuddy said, shaking her head. "You?" she asked House.

"I'm done," House nodded. "Want to go upstairs?"

* * *

They got to the elevator and House stood directly in front of her. She looked up at him with a combination of sweetness and lust that he thought only she was capable of achieving with any sort of balance. He reached out and traced her lower lip with his index finger and watched her watching him.

He wanted to keep every last one of the people who had used her or hurt her away. Each of those people, like vultures, trying to pick at her being until there was nothing left and he couldn't watch her disappear, knowing, without a doubt, that if she was truly gone, it meant he was as well. On that he found their truest bond, the fact that the world approached them with the most selfish of intentions, which repercussed through the couple's individual lives, leaving thick scars in the wake. They were learning that the person in front of them was equal parts vulnerable and strong.

"Tired?" he asked.

"No. You?"

"Exhausted. But…we have to celebrate our engagement. That could take…several hours."

"'Several' is a lot of hours. And we have to be downstairs at ten tomorrow."

"I'll make sure you're asleep by eight. Get you two hours of sleep before you go."

The elevator dinged at their floor. "Make it seven," she joked, "I have to be up by nine so I can be showered, and downstairs by ten. I can't roll out of bed and look amazing like you."

"It is my best look."

"It's not your _best_ look…but it's a good one."

He pushed the door closed, softly moving his lips across hers from right to left once before kissing her.

"Then what is my best look?" he asked when he backed away.

"Depends on my mood. Mischievous is a good look on you. You actually look really hot when you're working. Looking over those case files was pretty sexy. My favorite might be the desperately turned on look you get when our fooling around becomes more serious and then you get this expression like you'll go crazy if I don't make love with you."

She was opening doors again, to the possibilities of feelings, the chance that maybe they were experiencing something mutual that they were actually willing to express aloud. Two people so blatantly strong, definitely at times intimidating, were terrified of the sentiments that could be expressed in a few short words. They came so close to sharing those words that they felt nervousness throughout their bodies because whether they wanted it to be or not, it was important and undeniable.

They disrobed each other, slowly stealing touches, his lips finding patches of exposed skin, his fingers soothing aches that weren't seen. With each touch of her hands or her lips, or the way she moved the delicately soft skin of her chin along his shoulder when they'd embrace, he could feel the depth of compassion that was nearly more than he could endure. They uncovered each other's bodies like they were uncovering each other's very selves, learning bits and pieces, seeing glimpses and peeks of the larger person as a whole.

As much as they enjoyed their youthful ferocity, the compassion behind their gentler touches eased pains neither was willing to confess even existed. And what was said of Cuddy was true, she did hold her cards so close to her chest that she could barely see them. But then he did the same thing. He got lost in the feeling of her breasts in his face, and her nipples in his mouth, her hands on the back of his neck and then he could hear her whispered pleas for more and he wondered if she really meant _him_.

She was trying to touch him, to make him feel what she was feeling, but he laced his fingers with hers and held them down on the bed above her head. His body was over her and she loved the sheer weight of him. His length was sliding along her slit as he teased and tried to make her feel something that was pleasant. He was able to find her very center and enter her slowly without guidance because he knew everything about her body, and knew exactly how they fit together. He wanted to study the ways that they fit until he knew everything that could be known.

They moved together, fingers still laced, her legs hooked around him with the lithe simplicity of a beautiful body. Glances, cautious stolen looks, were shared occasionally as eyes neared and they learned more, as they grew more attached to the person they were entwined with in so many ways.

He would always want her to come first so that he could make her come again, like it was imperative, somehow proving his worth to her. She shuddered with orgasm hidden under his body, asking for more when in reality she was asking for more of _him_. It was one of his favorite places to be in the world, with her wrapped around him, while she was feeling wonderful because of what he was doing to make her feel that way. When her body relaxed enough for him to move again he began to, his eyes closed tightly while he let go of her hands to wrap his arms under her. He vaguely heard her talking and the sound of her voice enhanced everything they were doing, but didn't even matter _what_ she was saying.

She reached her hands between his arms to hold his face and she whispered "House, look at me."

He opened his eyes and saw affection and pleasure evident alongside the tiny smile on her face, something true and so painfully genuine that he'd never erase the image. Between kisses she whispered, "I love how you make me feel."

There was the look again. It was hope and life, and behind her eyes was something that felt like meaning. He wanted to find a way to capture it, but he already had, he was already part of what was there. He just needed to figure out how to share in it himself without destroying it, how to be part of it without taking away from it.

His arms tightened around her and he ground his hips toward her, whispering, "Come again for me."

They were lost in each other normally, but when they were physically entangled, the outside world ceased to exist. When she moaned more loudly and freely, and started to come, he lost it, he unraveled, his need to be one with her in every way was something he was chasing without even being cognizant of it anymore.

In the morning, she slapped the snooze button when the alarm went off. "Wedding day," she sighed.

"Even our engagement went fast," he joked.

"Not _our_ wedding, Julia's"

"Then it _really _isn't exciting."

"Are you happy?" she asked as she spooned against his body.

"Right now? Yea."

"I want to make you happy," she said, sitting up, cross-legged on the bed, looking at him. "That's what I want."

"Keep me around then," he suggested, adding playfully, like a hero tempting a villain in an old movie, "Do your worst."

She grinned, "You're on."


	11. An Insurance Policy

_A/N-I'm sorry to those who wanted more fights and drama here in this story. It was supposed to be my sappy holiday romance one (except I was too slow in posting), not a lot of drama here, like Painstaking, it's largely fluff. My next fic has more drama and some better fights. I really suck at true angst but I'm sure you've all figured that out by now. I'll endeavor for better drama next story._

_Thanks to all of you who are checking this fic out and still enjoying this slightly different ride and also thanks to all of you who left a review for last chapter: IWuvHouse, LapizSilkwood, Guest, IHeartHouseCuddy, ikissedtheLaurie, givemekevinbacon, Huddyphoric, JLCH, jkarr, jaybe61, Fran, OldSFfan, ClareBear14, lenasti16, chebelle, Suzieqlondon, Housebroken, Iane Casey, Boo's House, Abby, IAlwaysWantToKissYou, HuddyGirl, dmarchl21, Alex, LoveMyHouse, Josam, grouchysnarky and BJAllen815._

_I expect to update by Tuesday/Wednesday._

* * *

-An Insurance Policy-

Cuddy dashed around their room getting ready, shoving makeup in her purse and emerging from the bathroom in the sweats and tee shirt that she would wear until she could get down to the room where the bridal party would be dressing. Once she was gone, House was left in the room with almost three hours to himself. He dressed in the only suit he owned, charcoal grey and slightly rumpled, that he bought for interviews and funerals. Balling up a tie and shoving it in his pocket, he went downstairs to see what he could find to keep himself busy until the wedding started.

On the main level, he located the adjoining rooms rented for the wedding. One room was for the ceremony, with seats in orderly rows, flowing white lace in appropriate places and flowers along the front of the room where the ceremony would likely take place. The room next to it was obviously for the reception, with a bar at one corner, many tables set up throughout the space for dining, and a large dance floor. Along the back wall, there were long banquet tables set up for attendees to leave gifts. The decorations weren't garish but they were slightly overdone in magazine-cover bridal style. Judging by the size of the gift tables and the number of seats, there were going to be a lot of people at the wedding.

House was walking toward the door, thinking there was nothing of interest in the event rooms, until he saw a florist come in and begin to arrange flowers in clear vases at the center of each of the tables. Each vase was hand decorated with winding copper wire and other various items. He walked over to the nearest table and stared at the decoration on the empty vase. Studying it for a moment, he had a fantastic idea, so he grabbed the vase, shoved it into his jacket, and slipped from the room to find the maintenance department.

* * *

Cuddy joined the remaining female members of the wedding party, each nursing headaches in the bride's dressing room. "Rough night?" Cuddy asked as she swayed her hips and walked into the room.

No one answered. "You guys all throw up last night?" Cuddy asked.

Two nodded, one bridesmaid didn't. "Actually you were probably better off throwing up early. Your body continued to process the alcohol in your stomach…ah never mind. You guys don't care. I'm sorry to go all clinical on you. I'll forget I'm a doctor for the rest of the day."

Cuddy was walking around the room, organizing bags and pulling dresses from their opaque, protective covers. She said, "I hope you guys aren't too bloated up for your dresses. God, that would suck wouldn't it?"

Julia looked up from the floor, "Could you please stop being such a bitch and help me out here? What really works? Coffee, greasy food?"

"Coffee will dehydrate you at this point," Cuddy said. She sat on the floor next to Julia, "You made fun of me last night when you know I have trouble meeting guys I like. I meet someone that I'm interested in, and I'm having unbelievable volumes of the hottest sex of my life with someone who's actually fun and interesting, and you can't even give me a high-five and be happy for me for a few seconds. I can take a joke, but that one hits some soft spots, plus I've been listening to the same jokes for at least five years."

"It's funny, just a joke."

"True. Does that mean anything's on the table, because I know a few things about you and the New Year's party. That's OK?"

The two other bridesmaids looked up, eager for a story.

"It would be really funny," Cuddy shrugged, "the stuff I could tell. As long as it's funny you should take the joke."

Julia looked up, "Fine. I'm sorry."

"And then you want me to make you feel better. You want me to use the skill you mock me for while you call me a bitch."

"You're my sister. Bitch is a term of endearment," Julia said, leaning her head on her big sister's shoulder.

Cuddy chuckled, leaning her cheek on the crown of Julia's head. "True, skank."

Julia laughed quietly. "I do love you." She raised an unsteady hand for a high-five. "Congrats on the new man. I am happy for you." Cuddy smacked her sister's palm and then Julia added, "Now, is there something we can do? Because I feel like shit."

"Yea," Cuddy nodded, "There's no miracle cure, but you can feel better than you feel now. You guys get dressed and-"

Cuddy was interrupted when the door swung open, slapping loudly against a chair behind it. The hungover women looked very displeased at the noise.

"Need a hand," House said, walking over to Cuddy and gesturing for her to stand up.

"Can you leave?" the one bridesmaid hollered, pulling her robe tighter. "This is a ladies' dressing room."

"Then why'd they let you in?" He asked her while staring at Cuddy.

"What's wrong?" Cuddy asked him, leading him over to the side of the room so the other women were more at ease.

"I need a hand," he said, reaching down to take hers. "How's your day?" he asked while he moved his fingers over her fingers.

"Fine, what are you doing?" she asked.

"Research. It's nothing."

"OK?" she said and then was distracted, "It's actually good you're here."

"You missed me. Happens to women a lot, it's a curse."

"Yes," she nodded, patronizingly patting his arm with her free hand while he still held her other hand. "I can barely survive a moment without you."

"I'm sure," he nodded, "what do you want?"

"Need stuff for their hangovers"

"Screw 'em. Besides, I have a project I'm working on."

"What kind of…project?"

"It's like a whole metallurgy experiment thing. You wouldn't understand."

"Right," she nodded suspiciously. "Please. She's my little sister. It's her wedding day."

"Fine, but just for her. The others can suffer."

"Hey," the one bridesmaid loudly protested.

"So _now _you want me here," House countered, yelling over his shoulder.

"Can you do that for me please?" Cuddy requested.

"You'll owe me," he said with one of her favorite looks on his face.

"OK"

He finally dropped her hand, "Be back," he said as he went out the door.

Within fifteen minutes he was back with a room service cart and various foods and drinks. "No whining. Eat what I give you. All of it."

"Oh gross," the one bridesmaid said, eying the food he was handing out.

"I said no whining. The sound of your voice makes me want to _not_ help you." House said, turning to Cuddy, "You listened to that all yesterday evening?"

Cuddy smiled, walked over to her dress, turning away from him slightly to pull off her top and slink into her gown, stepping carefully out of her sweatpants once the dress was in place. When she turned, House was staring and the woman who was whining moments earlier said to House, "You need to leave, we're changing."

"Could you not talk while I'm watching her dress," he griped, "You're ruining it."

"OK, House," Cuddy said, walking over to him to shoo him out the door, "Time to go."

"I need you a minute, it's for my project. Fifteen minutes…that's it," he explained.

"We have to get ready."

"It'll be fast. Plus…they have to finish their breakfast, and we both know it's gonna take them longer to get ready because they're gonna need a lot more layers of makeup than you will."

"God, he's an asshole," the other bridesmaid said, "You like this guy?"

"Yup," Cuddy nodded, "I'll be back."

When they were out in the hallway, he was speeding down the corridor as she tried to keep up, lifting the long gown a bit so she could run. He stopped quickly, directing her into a room with several broken luggage carts and furniture that was in need of repair, and immediately forcing her up against the door.

She shrieked for a second, just out of surprise, and then they were kissing, immediately deep, instantly frantic and lusty, and she gasped softly into his mouth, her fingers slipping up around his neck. When she moaned against him, he felt arousal surge through his body, driving him closer to her. He pressed against her as he was beginning to get hard already, desperate for her again after a few hours.

When his mouth moved to her neck, she asked, teasingly, "So you like the dress?"

"The dress is fucking horrible," he spoke against her skin.

"Thanks," she said, making efforts at sarcasm that felt required but ill-placed given her body's overall happiness.

He pulled his head back, "The _dress_ is horrible, you look hot. I feel you two should be separated."

She chuckled, "The dress is supposed to be horrible because-" she sighed, the quiver evident in her voice, lost for a moment before putting a hand low on his chest to push him back. "I can't have sex with you right now."

"No problem. Just consider this foreplay for the sex we will have later. You don't even have to do anything," he mumbled, "just enjoy…and if you want to keep making little noises like that," he ground his pelvis against her, "That would be good."

She giggle-moaned while his hands roamed the smoothly slick fabric of the dress along her waist. "I can't," she said, shaking her head. "I have to get back, I don't have time for a shower."

"You don't need a shower, let me make you come. That's all I want," he asked, his voice urging compliance.

She stared at him after his request, considering, then attempting to remain steadfastly responsible. "Later, I promise."

"Doesn't sound like you want to wait for later."

"I don't _want_ to wait. I _have_ to."

"You don't have to," he mumbled so low that she could feel the vibration of his chest against hers and he could feel her objections withering as each second passed. "You need to relax before this whole shindig begins. I'll have you back in the room to do the whole makeup-hair thing in plenty of time."

"I don't know," she groaned, still trying to convince herself to do what she thought she should.

"They're back there with the hangover cure, why should you have to sit and watch them?"

He knew her moan of consent, he loved that noise, and he started to gather the slippery fabric in his hands and pull it up along her legs. When he reached her mid-thigh, he felt her garters and groaned, "Are you serious?"

She pinched his lip between her teeth, nodding slowly.

"You _are_ trying to make me crazy," he accused, and she slowly nodded again. "I'm going to be replaying this in my head for the rest of the day, so if you see me sitting quietly, you don't have to ask what I'm thinking about."

He pushed one of the broken luggage carts against the door to brace it shut and lowered her on it. Bringing himself to the ground in front of her, he noticed she was already slipping down, already consenting and even encouraging him to continue. Her knees were bent, feet on the floor, thighs trying to decide if they wanted to open or squirm shut so at least she could have the relief of the pressure of her own body.

She was leaning back, pushing her hips forward, her body moving closer to him because there was no more doubt that she wanted him, even under those circumstances. She slipped off her own panties in a moment of impatience, quickly dropping them next to her and again sinking low in invitation, hoping he'd somehow respond to her waiting body. Her pose was in some ways so inappropriate, a bunched up, glossy, fancy dress, wrinkling more with each passing moment, high around her waist, thigh-high stockinged legs shifting. She was mind-numbingly gorgeous, waiting, excited and hopeful. "You're right, this is a bad idea," he started to say, and watched the immediate frustration on her face.

Her hands moved to her thighs, her head dropped back against the door behind her with a thud and she breathed, disappointed but hopeful. The fingertips of her one hand followed the top of one garter. Moving to her outer thigh and going up to a hip before drifting slowly to her inner thigh, where her fingers tickled along her own skin. "After all of that work convincing me and you aren't interested?" she asked.

He waited, hoping her fingers would decide to continue, so he could see her touching herself for a moment before he took over, but she reached down to the ground, grabbed her panties, and lifted a still heeled foot to put them back in place.

He was sitting on the floor in front of her, reaching out with both hands to touch her knees, just barely on the inside, and pressing them open delicately. The faintest pressure of his hands on her knees convinced them to relax open more fully. He slipped his legs under the cart, moving closer to her until he was near enough to touch her if he was ready to begin. He moved her hands onto her upper thighs, covering them with his own while he approached. He sampled leisurely tastes and tested various touches, pleasing her without the use of his hands. As much as he wanted to continue a slow exploration, there was little time, so he tried to keep things going, but simply refused to rush something so perfect too much. When her legs started tensing, he could feel her lifting up off of the cart, her body shifting up against the counter pressure of her own hands on her thighs, limiting her body's reaction.

She finally pulled one hand away, yanking it from under his to cover her own mouth, mostly to remind herself of the need to remain somewhat subdued. She came with her own harsh purr, just loudly enough for him to hear before her voice shifted to a squeal that was as quiet as possible, given the type of sound. The time for calming breaths and a moment of recovery was ignored while she helped him up. "Come on, stand up," she ordered forcefully.

"Such a demure little thing," he responded happily.

She was sitting on the edge of the cart as he stood in front of her, and she started to unbutton his pants. He made no move to stop her. He wanted to get her off without the need for reciprocation, but it was impossible to touch her and taste her and not become aroused. He momentarily stretched the cricks from his back, arms bent, hands behind his head while he looked down to watch her. When he dropped his arms to his side, his thumb ran along her cheek bone and she took his hands, placing them on his thighs much like he had done to her. Like him, she covered his hands, trapping them in place while she licked, sucked and teased faintly, just enough to make him want more. The sound of people walking outside of the door, people that she was likely related to or friends of the family, reminded her of the uncertainness of their privacy, and the fact that she had people who were expecting her. She moved her hands to his hips, convincing his body to sway gently, completely under her control for a moment before moving her hands to assist her mouth, easily pushing him across the line from the near pinnacle of arousal that she'd had him hovering around to the point of mind-blanking satisfaction.

After correcting his clothing so that he would be prepared if someone were to enter the room, he nudged her to the side, sitting next to her on the cart and wrapping his arms around her body as they leaned against the door. She always found him so endearingly disarmed after sex, a little sleepy, vulnerable and affectionate in a very honest way. She held him close for a moment or two and then whispered, "I really do have to go now."

"Why?"

"That whole wedding thing, remember?"

"Eh"

She giggled, "I'm sorry, I really have to go."

He gazed at her with a look of disappointment, his eyebrows raised slightly at the center through heavy eyes. She took his face in her hands. "I'm telling you, you make it so hard not to fall for you," she whispered. He had a moment of confusion, an attempt to translate her words into something he could understand because the obvious interpretation seemed an impossibility. "I'm gonna run upstairs quickly, and then I'm going to go back to help my sister and the girls get ready…and then…we have an actual wedding to go to."

"I hate weddings," he groaned.

"I just blew you in a storage room. Are you sure you hate weddings?"

He smirked, surprised and sort of excited by what she said and the way that she said it, and he answered, "I love preparing for weddings. This is part of the preparations. The actual wedding is boring. Unless you'd like to hook up during the wedding? That may convince me to enjoy the actual wedding."

She smiled, a friendly but disapproving look, "I'll be with my sister in a very conspicuous place. You haven't made me completely lose sight of the appropriate."

"Yet"

"Yet," she kissed his forehead and stood, composing herself as much as possible.

He followed her to the door, moving the cart out of the way and taking her hand as they walked out, still distracted and confused by the very thought that maybe she actually had fallen for him, feeling the improbability of it even though she'd given him so many indications that she did feel that way. She was hardly being subtle. They walked out into the hall, sharing a few moments as she reached across her body to hang on to his forearm with her free hand, leaning toward him, happily connected. He looked over at her with a quizzical expression and their amorous moment was interrupted by a loud voice. "Just who I wanted to find," Ron said from behind them.

Cuddy tensed, instantly feeling uncomfortable at the man's approach. "Greg," Ron said, "the deejay needs help bringing in her equipment. The guy who was supposed to help her hasn't showed. I thought you and I could bring her stuff in. She's a looker, it's worth your time."

"The deejay? She's all yours, I don't need _all_ of the girls," House answered with a smirk.

"I have to go," Cuddy said. "House is busy, he's working on something right now."

"_House_? An interesting pet name. Anyway, you can't spare ten minutes to help bring in a few things? You aren't gonna make the old guys do all of the work, are you?" Ron asked.

"It's fine," House shrugged, watching Cuddy. "I'll catch up with you after the wedding."

Cuddy grimaced, concerned about any conversation that may go on between the two men. "OK," she said hesitantly, knowing that she was needed elsewhere. She kissed House's cheek, "See you then."

She walked off quickly, hurrying down the hall, propelled by nervous energy.

Ron was talking about Cuddy as a younger woman, her college graduation, clearly testing House's knowledge of her past. House said nothing as they went to the service doors and brought in the equipment, interested in whatever stories were told about Cuddy, after all, that was why he had agreed to help. Ron chatted nearly the entire time. After only a few minutes, they were finished, the young, female deejay thanking them for their help.

House was getting ready to leave, wanting to return to his project, when Ron said, very familiarly, "Appreciate your help, buddy."

House nodded wordlessly, trying to ignore the irritation that the older man made him feel.

"What were you and Lisa up to…I saw you come out of that closet," Ron said, not disapprovingly, like a buddy searching for a tawdry story.

"That isn't a closet," House answered, walking away.

"Hey," Ron said, taking two steps, "She's quite a girl, huh?"

House stopped and looked Ron directly in the eye, not realizing that moments earlier, Cuddy's father walked into the room and was watching the whole exchange, although he could not hear their words. "You mean the deejay? She's…what…twenty, maybe twenty-one? That's a little old for you, isn't it?" House asked with a derisive smile.

"What are you getting at?" Ron asked, still fishing for information.

"Just a question," House countered.

The anger between them, the silent and implied battle, was interrupted by Daniel. Daniel knew House's look. Questions that had lingered in his mind for years, seemed to suddenly be justified. "Greg," Daniel said, his voice soft, a slight shake evident, "thank you."

Daniel's gratitude had nothing to do with moving the speakers. House took advantage of the break in the discussion with Ron to walk away, "Leaving now," House said, heading swiftly to the door and out into the hall to return to the maintenance department.

He was almost there, far down the hall thanks to his long gait, when he heard Daniel behind him, actually running to catch up even though he was already dressed in his neatly pressed tux. "Greg, please," the older man shouted.

House stopped, his last step practically a frustrated stomp, "What?" he asked, not kindly.

"I need you to answer one question."

"I have to go."

"Please, answer one question," the older man asked, putting his hand on House's arm and watching the younger man jerk back like the touch actually offended him.

Daniel was shaking slightly, his hand as unsteady as his voice. He sighed, "You consider yourself an honest person. I want one answer, and I'll never ask another question about this again."

House looked away, "I really have to go."

"One answer is all I'm asking. I love my daughter. I can see…you care about her, but I need to know."

House scowled, "What?"

"Ron…was she a child? Did he do something? Was I worried about her classmates when I should have been concerned about my friends? Should I feel betrayed and annoyed, or should I feel thoroughly angry and utterly destroyed?"

House looked at the older man, seeing the combination of fear and paternal love that House never saw from his own father. House stood pensively, considering options, concerned about violating Cuddy's confidence, but he could see the devastation on the older man's face as the realization that he may have failed to protect his child stabbing painfully at him.

"He's not a predator. You have no reason to feel destroyed," House answered gruffly.

"Oh, thank god," Daniel sighed, finally breathing a breath that had been pent up for quite a long time.

While Daniel breathed a sigh of relief, he reached out and grasped House's arm and watched while the younger man jerked and pulled back yet again when the contact surprised him.

Daniel felt realizations pelting him, the immediate understanding of what House's revulsion at human contact actually suggested. Daniel had been a psychiatrist for decades, he'd seen reactions like that a hundred times. Suddenly, House's protectiveness over his girlfriend seemed framed in perspective. Daniel also recalled the easy way House seemed to accept Lisa's touch while the young couple sat at the hotel bar the night before. Daniel's expression softened to one of empathetic kindness. The older man's look of understanding made House feel exposed in a way he simply couldn't abide.

Realizing that Daniel Cuddy saw things that House did not want him to know shook him, it was entirely unexpected. Needing to retreat as quickly as possible, House nodded sharply once, and took off down the hall to leave Daniel alone with his thoughts.

House went directly to the maintenance department, back to the task he was attempting earlier but needed further research to complete. "Thought you weren't coming back," the man in the blue maintenance uniform said.

"I'm back. So, can I use those?" House asked, pointing at a few tools.

"Sure," the maintenance man said, watching while House found the decorated vase that he left in the work room.

House pulled the decoration away from the vase and began the type of mind-clearing, focused, methodical project that was perfectly suited to his taste. While he worked, the maintenance man said, "Fascinating stuff, copper. Pound for pound, probably my favorite metal. I mean, ductility alone…"

* * *

House barely finished his project in time for the wedding, walking up, past the lined up bridesmaids, pausing momentarily to admire Cuddy before walking through the doors. "You with the bride or groom?" the pre-teen usher asked.

"Umm…bride, I guess." House muttered, looking in the direction of the bride's side, seeing Aunt Edna waving at him like a happy school girl.

He was grateful to have the old woman to talk to during the ceremony. And she did talk the entire time. House listened, nodding to the pleasant distraction while he watched Cuddy. She faced her sister and Joe, watching while they exchanged vows in their hybrid ceremony, occasionally turning to meet House's gaze.

"Danny's girls are the prettiest of the bunch," Aunt Edna said when the ceremony was nearly complete. "You know Lisa's a doctor?"

"I heard."

"She's a smart one. One of my favorite nieces. She seems to like you."

House turned, his chin down near his chest, arms folded against him, "Do you think?"

"Oh yea. Making those girlie flirting eyes at you. She's not one to fling around flirts, if you know what I mean."

House's shoulders shrugged in a silent laugh while he stared at the old lady.

"You're making flirty eyes too. I can see that. I'm practically blind and I can see that."

"Maybe I think she's OK."

"Liar," the old woman accused. "It's too bad."

"What is?"

"Too bad I'm gonna swoop you up and take you home. She'll miss you."

"I win either way," House answered, winking boldly while the bride and groom exchanged a kiss.

The old woman started giggling so whole-bodily that she was shaking, leaning against the chair in front of her with one dainty, weathered hand. The next thing they knew, Julia and Joe were walking down the aisle, the ceremony complete. The crowd stood and Aunt Edna smiled, "About time that's over."

"You don't like weddings?" House asked, amused.

"Do you know how many of these fucking things I've been to?"

House blurted out a small, quick, almost silent chuckle. "Probably quite a few."

"Yea, a few."

House stuck out his hand, gesturing for Edna to walk ahead of him.

"Oh, honey, you are a dear heart," she said, "but I'm done with you for now, I have plans. That guy over there is actually near my age, I think I have a shot. I'm just using you to make him jealous."

He clenched his heart, "Edna…how could you?"

"Sorry, sweetie. I think you'll be OK."

"I'll try to start healing."

"You know what? If he plays hard to get, I'll be over during the reception to give you some attention…a dance or two…some sugar."

"Sure," House nodded, "Use me and toss me aside again."

The old woman wrinkled her tiny nose with a combined giggle and sneer. "I'm the love 'em and leave 'em type, ya know."

"I can see that."

"My first husband…forty-one years we were married. I left him."

"No way"

"At the cemetery"

"That sucks."

"Life must go on. No sense in me staying there."

"No, I guess not."

"Then I had a boyfriend for eight years, left him too."

"Cemetery?"

"Silent Creek Retirement Home. He talked me into going there. I told him I wasn't that old yet, wanted to leave. He didn't want to. So I did."

"Good for you," House nodded approvingly.

"Yea. So now I'm looking for a rebound piece of man."

House caught the sight of Cuddy walking over to him over Aunt Edna's shoulder.

"She's coming, isn't she?" Aunt Edna asked. "I can tell by that look. You have it bad, lover boy."

"I guess you'll have to wait until she's done with me. Give it a month."

The playfulness left Aunt Edna's face, "Joking or not, that kinda thinking will ruin things for you, so drop that crap right now." The somber moment was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and the old woman smiled at her niece, adding before she giggled and walked away, "This one's cute. If I was even ten years younger I'd make a run at him myself."

* * *

The next couple of hours were horribly boring, filled with posed pictures, food and traditions. House sat at a table with Edna and the man she had her eye on, although House was assigned to a table of young professionals.

When there was finally time, Cuddy hurried over to House, who was in a chair, slouching alone at the table recently abandoned by Edna and the object of her affection.

"Edna…she was just using me," House said, looking up at Cuddy from his seated position.

"Poor baby," Cuddy answered, standing next to him, meeting his gaze. "Can I comfort you? Maybe a dance? I'm without a dance partner."

"Me? You want Edna's sloppy seconds?"

Cuddy squinted her eyes tightly shut, shaking her head to clear the thought. "Shut up and dance with me."

Once on the dance floor, Cuddy whispered, "You look _really_ good."

"I even wore a tie for you."

She stared at the spot where a tie would traditionally be found. "I've never seen one so…transparent."

"I didn't say where I was wearing it," he replied, in a way that led her to believe it was hidden somewhere inappropriate. When her eyes widened he answered, "You're always thinking sex, aren't you?"

She looked at him with accusatory suspicion.

He patted his jacket pocket. "It's in here. _I'll _dress up for your sister's wedding but the boys only dress up for very special occasions. Like your birthday. Our special way of saying, 'Happy Birthday to you from the whole package.' Start dropping hints about what color tie you want…I'll see what I can do."

She smacked his chest, "I wonder what other people are talking about when they dance."

"Boring stuff. Trust me, we're having the best conversation on this floor."

Looking around, she answered, "Yea, probably. So what was your project? What were you doing the entire time I was getting ready?"

"Import stuff with Bill the janitor"

"What sort of important stuff?"

"We were talking about copper."

"Which is a euphemism for…"

"Copper," he answered with a nod after a moment of thought.

"OK. Why were you talking about copper?"

"It's Bill's favorite metal. It seemed sort of appropriate to my project."

"I'm not following."

"Well…copper has really high tensile strength…it's extremely strong. Takes a lot to break it. A lot of metals are like that…but…it's also highly flexible and ductile."

"Meaning it bends."

"Sure…it adapts…it won't crack under heavy pressure. Lots of metals have one of those things, but few are both extremely strong and very ductile at the same time."

Ron was dancing near them with Arlene, and House added, looking toward Ron, "Copper is also creep resistant."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

House quickly added, "No…seriously, it's creep resistant, that's actually a thing. It doesn't move away from connections or shift when you use it in construction, but for some _really_ weird reason, the creep resistant thing sold me on copper."

"You know a lot about this."

"Bill discussed it for about forty-five minutes. I think he was wearing a copper thong."

"Ew"

"It occurred to me that Ron doesn't like me much, and I thought he might mention our little engagement to your father. You know, out of spite to prove that I'm a jerk who would ask you and _not_ get you a ring. Makes me seem…disingenuous."

"He won't do that," Cuddy denied.

"He might, it's insurance. I wanted to be prepared."

House removed one of Cuddy's hands from his neck, reached into his pants pocket and pressed something into her newly freed hand. "It's just for emergencies. I don't want it to seem that I wouldn't take you seriously enough to at least have some sort of ring. But…if creepy decided to rat us out to Mommy and Daddy…at least you have something."

Cuddy looked down into her hand and found a tiny copper ring pressed into her palm. It had thinner wires of copper wound around the main ring, it was clear that it took a long time for someone to wind the pattern around the base ring. "Did you make this?"

"I know…it's cheap…and homemade, the absolute shittiest possible ring for a _real_ engagement. But…not bad for a fake engagement."

"According to Bill it's the best. Strong, enduring, adaptable. That's sort of romantic," Cuddy said, fighting the emotion that she felt over the sweetness of the gesture.

"Don't forget creep resistant."

"That too"

"And…flexible. That's my personal favorite. And, if the clear coat I put on it wears off, it will stain your skin, making you appear taken even if you leave your ring at home. Probably less endearing. Also it really conducts electricity…so avoid thunderstorms and electrical outlets."

"Thank you for the warning," she chuckled.

"I'm just trying to keep you from looking like a loser if your parents decide to believe we're actually engaged."

"Can I wear it?"

"So Ronny did tattle."

"I don't know. I just like it. You made it…for me," she answered.

"I stole the copper off of a wedding decoration."

"An act of desperation in order to show your feelings for me."

"You are really quite the optimist tonight."

"Or I guess you were doing it more to cover my ass."

"Maybe both," House admitted. "It's nothing great, but you can wear it. If you're willing."

"I like it. It's one of a kind. You made it. It's sweet."

He took it from her hand, subtly holding it out so she could move her finger into it, blocking the view of potential onlookers with his body. "And it fits. That's impressive," she said.

They danced for a moment and then she looked up at him, "Is that what you were doing in the dressing room? Sizing me for a ring?"

He looked up into the air, ignoring the accusation until he finally added, "Maybe."

"This might be even cooler than our first date," she said, looking at her hand as it stretched flat against his chest. "I can't wait until this wedding is over."

"Me too"

"Remember how I fucked you stone-cold dumb a couple of times?" she whispered.

"Or most times"

"I'm going to fuck you into a coma and wake you up…just to fuck you stone-cold dumb."

"Works for me"

They danced another moment or two and then House whispered, "I'm both slightly aroused and terrified at the thought of what you would have done if I bought you a diamond."

"Safer to stick with the stolen copper," Cuddy beamed.


	12. Barriers

_A/N-Thank you so much to all who have followed, favorite and reviewed since the last installment: IHeartHouseCuddy, siddigfan, jkarr, lenasti16, jaybe61, Ocean'sWriting, OldSFfan, dmarchl21, JLCH, Truth, Abby, HuddyGirl, Alex, chebelle, byte size, Josam, ikissedtheLaurie, LapizSilkwood, Fran, Iane Casey, Huddy4Ever, Guest, Suzieqlondon, Huddyphoric, BJAllen815 and LoveMyHouse._

_This is the last chapter of this story and a new story will be up in a few days._

* * *

-Barriers-

House had been trying to convince Cuddy to go upstairs for almost an hour. The festivities had died down, they had to leave very early in the morning to return to work, and he was definitely willing to sacrifice his own body for science to see if she could fuck him into a coma as promised. Cuddy wanted to wait until her sister and Joe left the party.

Daniel looked over the party with a sense of satisfaction. His youngest was happily celebrating her wedding to a guy who would likely always treat her well. Joe wasn't someone that Daniel would ever choose as a best friend, but Arlene loved him, Julia was happy and Joe certainly wasn't a bad choice for her. In between the festivities and frivolity, Daniel watched his oldest daughter. Lisa was happily celebrating with her sister, more relaxed and at ease than he remembered seeing her since childhood. He also watched her dancing with a man who seemed to come from nowhere. Daniel wasn't sure what to think of the unknown person his daughter seemed openly enamored with, but he did know what he was seeing. It often made him sad that, as a young woman, she did not seem one to get swept up in love. The times when she was hurt during her first year in high school sent her a powerful message, and he felt that his daughter was robbed of one of life's joys. In many ways, he had always wanted to see her acting like she was at Julia's wedding. He enjoyed watching his daughter seem so relaxed, happy, maybe even in love.

He watched House as well, looking for clues about who Lisa's new man was. The younger man was so tense around other people it was almost painful to watch. House seemed openly irritated by people's attempts at small talk and carefully tried to maintain space between himself and others. Many women approached House to dance because everyone wanted to know who had captured Lisa's interest. Amidst a sea of curious onlookers, House successfully avoided dancing with everyone except for Lisa and Aunt Edna. He even looked uncomfortable even with Aunt Edna, although not as mortified as he was with everyone else who tried to enter his space. Several people greeted him with an awkwardly unanswered hug. House looked like he was in physical pain for much of the day.

Daniel noticed, just as obviously, House's change in demeanor when Lisa would go to him. She would touch his shoulder and it was as if House already knew who it was. He did not flinch or pull away, and he usually had an expression of ease. His body language was not tense when they danced or when she leaned into his arm. Seeing the difference between his behavior with Lisa and his behavior with anyone else did not require an astute observer. Daniel adored his eldest child, he looked at her with love, admiration and respect, but wondered exactly what it was about her that House found so suitable. Lisa intimidated many men, but not the man who seemed horrified by contact from anyone else except her.

The psychiatrist understood well that two people so guarded from the world could be wonderfully matched, with a unique and powerful understanding of each other, or they could allow their distrust to destroy any chance at a relationship. Daniel hoped that his daughter finally found someone that she could actually trust. He worried about her far more than he let on to anyone but himself.

Daniel wanted to dance with his daughter before the party ended, and found her at a table chatting with House. Arlene was with Daniel, scowling at her newest adversary. Daniel took his daughter to the dance floor while Arlene stood by the table. "Well, Gregory…" she began to say when House interrupted.

"I'm not much for dancing, so if you don't mind I'd rather not," House responded, hoping to ward off any chance that she was going to ask him to dance with her.

"Oh, please," she huffed, "like I really felt like giving _you_ permission to touch me."

"Wait, wait, no one here is asking for permission to touch you. I don't even want to stand next to you."

"Awfully defensive aren't we?"

"I'm not _defensive_," he scoffed, "I just don't want you to have the impression that I'm somehow interested in being that close to you."

"I know how men are," she nodded, glaring at him.

House laughed with bitter disbelief. "I don't think you do," he shook his head with surprise, "and if that really _is_ how men are, then it still isn't how I am. Not with you."

"You think you're somehow different?"

"You know what," he countered, "you're right, I'm completely into-"

"Hey there, handsome," Aunt Edna said from behind him, fortunately interrupting his sentence. "Isn't he just the dearest?" Aunt Edna asked Arlene. "Your daughter has some fine taste in men."

Arlene regarded House disapprovingly over a flower arrangement while Edna sat between them.

* * *

Daniel danced with Lisa for a while, discussing the wedding and a few moments from their past. He put one arm around his daughter and held her left hand in his, "Where did this come from?" he asked, looking at her ring.

"Where do you think?" she smiled slyly.

"Does this carry a certain significance?"

"I guess."

"Which is…"

"I don't know yet. I know that it's significant, exactly how it's significant remains to be seen. We're going to let things play out. See what happens."

Daniel nodded, "That's a very relaxed attitude."

She breathed in through her teeth, "Yea. I'm feeling good."

"Did he tell you we talked?"

"Yes. You need to judge him over time, don't let one or two comments define your entire-"

"Hey," he interrupted, "I like him. For now anyway."

"Oh," she answered, nodding thoughtfully. "Mom doesn't like him."

"Sweetie, she doesn't even like us sometimes," Daniel chuckled. "She doesn't want you to get hurt."

"Defending her as always"

"You're already defending Greg, telling me to give him time, not to judge."

"I don't know what you're talking about," she answered, feigning defensiveness.

After a few moments, Daniel said, "Ron said you and Greg are engaged. That's fast."

She closed her eyes and nodded, "Sort of, we're…I mostly…I wanted-"

He tightened his arm, "It's fine, Lisa. Like you said, let it play out."

"I just can't say that we are, but I don't feel like saying we're not either."

"If you run off and elope, please get some pictures. And warn me at least a week before you tell your mother so I can build a bomb shelter to live in."

She smiled, "We will not elope. No one's rushing anything here, trust me."

Daniel could feel the tension rising in her while they finished their dance and she said, sweetly, "Thanks, Dad."

In the next breath she was gone, and within moments the anger was in her stride as she found Ron standing in the corner near the deejay. "I'd like to talk to you outside for a moment," she demanded.

Ron smiled, slightly intoxicated, "I was hoping you would."

She started walking for the door, leading the way as he followed. Once outside in the courtyard, she was immediately standing in front of him. "How many other confidences have you broken?" she asked angrily.

"I told your father about the engagement because it seemed too soon. You're young, I thought your father might be able to offer advice."

"I'm not sixteen. I'm an adult. Several years older than when you knew I was adult enough to screw!"

"Keep your voice down," he insisted.

"Oh, so you didn't blab about that? How many people did you tell? How many people did you brag to?"

"I didn't," Ron said quietly, looking around, "it was a mistake. I admit that."

"If it was a mistake, then why do I feel like you're jealous of what I have now? Let the past be the past and let's forget about it."

"Because I _am_ jealous," he answered, reaching out for her arm.

"Don't touch me," she shook her head.

"Fine, then just hear me out," Ron requested. "You're a remarkable woman. You're intelligent, beautiful, attractive. How many men aren't interested in you? Maybe it wouldn't be so uncomfortable now. You and I had a lot in common. We were really good friends."

"You forfeited the right to a friendship, and definitely forfeited any future romantic encounters, when you nailed your best friend's daughter in her dorm room after she trusted you enough to open up to you. I cried on your shoulder, telling you about how men had hurt me, and your response was to get into my pants."

"I didn't take advantage of you. It wasn't like you needed any convincing."

She shook her head, obviously uncomfortable and embarrassed. "I didn't. You are right. I fully consented. I needed reassurance. I felt like the most…undateable, fucked up woman in history. I've carried that feeling with me and you only confirmed what I already believed to be the truth. It wasn't like what happened between us did anything to convince me that I was any more than a girl who was good looking enough to spend the night with. Shouldn't a 'friend' want to help me overcome feelings like that? I wasn't thinking clearly and I made a really bad decision. I wasn't innocent but I _was_ vulnerable, I guess I trusted you to help me make good decisions, and that was a mistake. Not because of my age, but because of our history…because of our friendship."

She stopped speaking when she felt a hand on her arm and she saw House standing next to her. He looked back toward the door, drawing her attention there so that she would see that her father was listening. "Oh fuck," she whispered, her face contorting unhappily. "Dad," she started, having no idea what to say and feeling horrendously exposed.

"It's fine, Lisa. You have nothing to be ashamed of," Daniel shook his head, walking over to Ron. Once he was in front of his friend, Daniel said, "I wish right now that I was the type of man who could punch someone square in the jaw."

"You can't blame this on me," Ron stated calmly. "You're overreacting because it's your daughter. This was a decision made by two adults and you have to put that into perspective."

"Of course I'm overreacting. You're right, she _is _my daughter. You took advantage of a situation, and you took advantage of her. You can't say it's a mistake because I've seen you looking at her all evening and I don't care for it. I…need you to leave."

Daniel turned and saw his daughter, her arms crossed protectively against her body, one hand against her face, she was crying. "Lisa," Daniel said as he approached, "it's OK, really."

Her body language was unbelievably tense as she waited for the feeling of humiliation to subside.

"This doesn't define you," Daniel said, comfortingly. "I'm sorry I chose poor friends. What he did, taking advantage of someone, would have been wrong regardless of your age. He used your moment of vulnerability to his advantage. No wonder you hide your weaknesses."

She shook her head, "Please, Dad, don't analyze me right now."

"I'm not," Daniel answered, moving closer to hug her, but pausing, noting that her body language was blatantly asking not to be touched. "I love you, Lisa."

She nodded, sadly, trying to hold back tears, "I love you too."

"We'll talk soon, OK. This is between us, I won't say anything," he said as he began to walk away.

"Thanks, Dad," she told him while he went back into the hotel.

Daniel watched his daughter through the large windows facing the courtyard. She was a foot away from House, who nodded toward the stone wall that surrounded a raised shrubbery garden. She sat down, tears occasionally slipping down her face. House sat near her, not too closely, and the two began to talk. After a few minutes, when the talking stopped, House pushed his palms down on the wall and leaned back on his arms, one arm behind her but not touching her. She seemed to ease a bit and a moment later, when she didn't react poorly to his proximity, he pulled the arm around her. Her reaction, just like his reaction to her touch, was one of simple acceptance. Her shoulders dropped, the rigidity in her form backing down slowly until she moved closer to lean against him, one hand reaching across her body to his chest.

Daniel finally decided to back away from the window, cautiously filled with hope that Lisa had found what he had always hoped she would find.

* * *

They said very little while they sat outside. Once Cuddy relaxed and let her body rest against House's, she felt less alone, although still exposed and ashamed about her previous choices. "We better go inside, say goodbye to Julia and Joe before they leave," she said while she wiped tears from her face.

"You sure? They won't care if you go," House answered.

"I need to say goodbye," she said, trying to swipe around her eyes in case any makeup had run or smudged. "You don't happen to have mirror or something I can use as a mirror, do you?"

He felt his jacket, "Damn, I must have left it in my purse."

She looked at him, the only scowl she could manage was weak at best.

"Here," he said, wiping her cheek roughly with his thumb. "Hold still," he ordered.

She closed her eyes and sat patiently.

"Now, if you just give me some time," he said very seriously, "I'll finish my abstract painting called, 'Plight of the Pancreas.'"

She pulled back and caught his look, "Is it that bad?"

"No," he shook his head, "I just wiped off the stuff that looked streaky. If you want better than that, you'll have to find a mirror."

She walked over to the window, trying to catch what she could of her reflection. "You're fine," he said, putting his hand under her elbow.

"Just trying to make sure I look OK."

"That's like trying to do something to make sure the sun will rise…it's a given and your efforts are pointless. Let's go," he said impatiently.

Her lips curled upward slightly as they walked in, amused how, so often, his compliments were interspersed throughout frustrated or seemingly negative statements.

After catching Julia and Joe in the corridor, they were able to say goodbye without having to go back inside the reception room, avoiding the smaller but still present crowd inside.

They entered the elevator to go upstairs and Cuddy sighed, "Being caught by your father is a horrible thing. Being caught by him with his friend, even if only figuratively caught, is abjectly humiliating."

"This is not abject humiliation. At least he didn't actually catch you. _That_ would have been worse."

"Yea, but still. He'll probably think about that every time he sees me," she worried, covering her forehead with one hand.

"No, he won't."

"I don't want him knowing that stuff about me."

"Don't worry about it. I'm hardly suggesting you two share tips and tricks but I'm sure he's guessed you aren't a virgin anymore, even before tonight. He's more concerned that it's his fault than anything else."

She leaned her head against the wall of the elevator.

"My dad caught me in the back of his car with the daughter of one of his superiors. They had some hideously boring Sunday picnic thing, our place was locked so I took her around back to my dad's car because it was unlocked. Felt like I had about two minutes…tops…the door opens, and he's pulling me by the collar, barely got my hand under her shirt. You aren't the first person to get caught."

"What did he say?"

"He was a little annoyed."

House stood in front of her, his hands moving to her waist and hips for a moment while he studied her face. The significance of his admission was not lost on her. Childhood was something they didn't talk about, so she knew he was making an attempt to be open with her, to make her feel less exposed by exposing part of his history. She smiled, her expression still a bit sad and uncertain. The elevator dinged for their floor and he patiently led her to their room.

"What about the football player?" he asked as they walked.

"What?" she blinked. "What football player?"

"Your freshman year of high school"

"Where were you snooping now?" she sighed.

"I wasn't. Your father mentioned it. He said he was worried something happened, but later learned that nothing happened. I want to know from you…if you were hurt."

She furrowed her brow, thought for a moment, "He was just a jerk. He hurt my feelings and he hurt lots of other guys…teammates, weaker kids, but not me. He was a bully."

"What about the guy after him, the dorky loser?"

Cuddy smiled, "Dad was so proud when he learned the word 'dorky.'"

"Did he hurt you?"

"Why would you ask that?" she inquired, leaning against the wall by their door, waiting for him to unlock it. "Why all these questions?"

After they were back in their room, he sat on the wide window ledge, gesturing for her to take the spot on the other side. They leaned against the frame of the window, facing each other. House pulled at a loose piece of the caulk from around the window and began rolling the little ball of material between his fingers.

"So why _are_ you asking all of these questions?" she pressed.

He looked out over the city. She could hear his mouth open as he gathered his words. "You're really private. You don't show everyone…you."

"I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing," she began immediately, somewhat defensive. "There is no need to be an open book, showing everyone my every private thought! It doesn't mean I'm embarrassed or ashamed of who I am."

"I agree."

"Look at you," she continued, "you definitely aren't putting all of _your_ cards on the table."

"I know," he nodded, tilting his head and watching her.

"I can't figure you out," she admitted.

"I don't put my cards on the table. You are right. And neither do you. I know why _I_ don't put my cards on the table…I want to know why _you_ don't."

"Why don't you?" she asked.

"I think you already know, so what's the point in me saying it?"

"Your dad?"

"Part of it"

"Almost every single time I let my guard down, I regret it. I wasn't always this cautious, but you start to learn that sometimes when you trust people with yourself, they will use that to destroy you. People…tend to take. They take sex, they taint reputations, they snag ideas, they steal childhoods," she said, looking at him. "Sometimes it's safer not to let people close enough to hurt you."

"Hardly the words of an idealist."

"I don't need things to be _ideal_, I want them to be better. There are people who get continuously screwed that don't deserve to…people who deserve a fighting chance. I think the world _can_ be better…but you have to be very careful who you choose to keep near you…who you trust. I'm not ready to get on my back and expose my soft underbelly for people to stab at."

He watched her for a few moments and she asked, very quietly, "What's wrong?"

Without an answer he leaned slowly forward and kissed her, very affectionately. She was slow to respond, and she was still almost startled by the tenderness he could display. Her hands moved to his sides to pull herself closer and he stopped. "I'm not trying to take."

She laughed once, a loud breath out her nose, "I know you aren't. If I thought that's who you were I wouldn't tell you this."

She started trying to kiss him again almost immediately and he shook his head.

"What?" she asked. "If this is about the Ron thing…"

"It isn't," he answered, "not directly. I need to figure something out and I can't think when you're touching me."

"Are you…OK?" she asked, deeply concerned.

"I'm not him."

"I figured that out already," she said as she wrinkled her nose, giggling just a bit, "Come on, I'll make you feel better."

She stood up from the window sill, slowly releasing the zipper that ran along the side of her dress. He started watching her, automatically, but remembering the thoughts ping-ponging through his head, he approached her. "No. Just wait…I-"

"You feel differently, don't you? About me?" she looked angry and sad, her eyes red from crying and welling with fresh tears as she continued, "I knew this was going to come back on me, I just fucking knew it. It would figure that the moment I really fall completely…" she half-growled and began putting her dress back in place.

"I love you too," he said, calmly, quietly.

"What?" she asked irritably.

"I love you too. I fell…in love with you also," he nodded.

"What do you mean 'too'?"

"You just said-" he started.

"No I didn't," she retorted.

"Well you said," his face fell while he thought, he took two steps back toward the bed and leaned back until he was sitting on the edge, "never mind."

"Did you mean it?" she asked as her fear faded.

"The never mind? Yes, I definitely meant it."

"No. Did you mean that you love me?"

He did not respond in any way, no change in body language or breathing, no sound or sigh, just absolute stillness.

She stood in front of him, the fingers of her hands intertwined at the tips. "I love you. You were right, I was going to say that I fell in love with you. So if that's the case…is it true that you love me too?"

"I don't feel like getting hurt either," he answered softly, looking away.

"I know."

He suddenly looked up at her, a bit of anger in his voice, "So why'd you deny it?"

"Because I am _tired_ of hurting. I don't want to screw this up like everyone thinks I will. I don't want to lose what's here, because there's something here. And if I love you and you're toying with me or joking…I don't know what I'll do."

He looked up at her, wide-eyed, face filled with shock, "I wouldn't joke about that. Ever. I can barely say it if it's real."

"I wouldn't joke about it either. Ever. I've had to remind myself not to say it when we're having sex because there are all of these chemicals, emotions, closeness and you…you're right there and I figure if I say it when I'm coming you'll never believe me, but it's always right there. I feel this. It was harder to try to stop myself from saying it before than it was to say it now."

He looked away for a second, considering.

"Please, can I touch you now? Can I kiss you? I need…something?" she said, her voice laced with an uncertain quiver.

"Who me?" he said more lightly.

Needing to be near him somehow, she started taking off her dress, moving in the ways that she did to make him crazy, but he was already crazy with want. His mind was more aroused he ever thought possible and, for a moment, he was completely confused about what he wanted to do with her. Certain things were obvious, he wanted contact, he wanted her to feel good, to be near her, to find a safer form of closeness than their words, but beyond that, he felt almost unprepared.

In his lifetime, he'd had hundreds of fantasies and daydreams about women, he certainly wasn't short on desire or thoughts of sex. In all of his hundreds, maybe even thousands, of fantasies, there wasn't single one where he and a woman that he actually wanted a future with exchanged honest 'I love you's.' It wasn't that he didn't want to love and be loved, it seemed like something idyllic and pleasant if such a thing actually existed, but then he didn't think it did, at least not for him.

Standing two feet in front of him, was a woman that he loved, who claimed to love him in return. She was likely the sexiest woman he'd ever laid eyes on and yet _she_ was trying to seduce _him_. He was thinking about the ring on her finger that she actually asked him if she could wear and the fact that she really _looked_ like she loved him. She looked like she meant everything that she'd said. Moments earlier, she was hurt, felt lost and alone, and he was the one she clung to, the one she trusted when she felt that she couldn't trust anyone. There were thoughts and stirrings that he simply couldn't identify and it was troubling him.

Then she took two steps closer, standing between his knees and said, "Can you help me with this?"

Her hands were behind her back, near the clasp of her bra and the moment her breasts were near his face, he smirked up at her.

"There you are," she teased, "you looked distant."

"I'm right here, believe me," he answered, reaching around her body, his fingers glancing along the bottom of her bra while he moved around to the back. He stared at her body, something that he often did, making mental note of everything about her shape and then his brow furrowed, "You are physically flawless. It's not even an opinion. It's just…undeniable fact. I'm attempting to find a flaw-"

"I have plenty-"

"Lies. Complete lies." He put his hands on her hips, pushed her back a half step and then said, "While physically perfect, falling in love with me is a sign of deep-seated mental illness."

"No, it isn't," she responded immediately. "That's bullshit. It's not even funny."

"Are you sure you want me?"

"You get a response from me every single time you are near me. Whether I'm sad or angry or happy, I'm instantly turned on while in your presence…I want you all of the time."

She took his hand, started directing it to her panties so that he could feel physical evidence of her response to him and he pulled back, just a bit, showing the slightest hesitance before he allowed her, but she stopped. His hesitation did not go unnoticed. She sat sideways on his lap, purposefully avoiding a move that he might see as sexual. He could see her thinking.

Understanding his hesitation immediately, she began to wonder how to assure him, because with him there was a fine line between acts that were seen as meaningful, and acts that were annoying and banal. "I…want you because I'm attracted to you, that has always been true. But I want you this much because of how I feel about you." She took his hand and pressed it over her heart and delicately kissed him, just a moment of demonstrated connection.

He did not urge the moment beyond this kiss, so after a few minutes she opted for a shower, wanting to allow him time with his thoughts. When she was done showering, she drew back the curtain and he was sitting on the sink. "Remember our first time...your bathroom sink, then the bathroom floor…then the floor outside of your bathroom?"

"I remember all of that…very well. But…that wasn't our first time."

He tilted his head, "First time this time."

"Yes," she agreed, "first time this time."

"Ever since then, I find that bathrooms make me hot."

"I'm sure," she answered sarcastically.

"It makes going to the men's room awkward."

She was drying off, giggling, her body trembling a bit from cold and laughter. He could see the water droplets moving over her skin, the slight shake in her breasts and prickled skin crawling across her body. "Could you close the door or turn up the heat out there, it's so cold," she requested.

He looked at the open door. He said, colorlessly, "That's because I turned down the thermostat and opened the door."

"Nice," she laughed again, reaching out of the tub for the door to try to push it shut.

He stood up, blocking her from the door. "Don't be an ass," she chuckled. "Or…you could warm me up."

"Finally caught onto that, did you?" he asked, taking off his jacket and flinging it around her shoulders.

"I'm still damp."

"Don't care," he said, stepping closer.

He was just outside of the shower, she was standing directly in front of him, still inside of the tub. Pulling the towel away, his hands went to her torso while he felt her chilled skin. She unbuttoned his shirt, her hands spreading across the firmness of his chest before she tried to push it from his body. "Don't," he complained, "don't you know it's freezing in here?"

She tried to scowl but he kissed her too quickly, tossing her towel into the bottom of the shower. He followed her body with his hand, eventually reaching his fingers under the back of her thigh to lift her leg. She was immediately trying to wrap it around him, but he lowered it so that her one foot was placed on the side of the tub. Her disappointment was sighed loudly until he reached forward, allowing his fingers to trace her sex. He hadn't done anything else, no other fondling, none of his usual explorations of her body. He was standing right in front of her, her breasts almost touching his chest if they both inhaled at the same time, and he looked down to watch his hand near her body. She tilted her pelvis forward so he could see more of her and his hand, and the ways that they met. Watching his even, poised expression, combined with his complete interest in her and her body was a huge turn on for her. It was almost like his fingers were purposefully trying to avoid really arousing her. He was lazy with his touches, unpredictable, light, arrhythmic and even vague, and she found her mouth drifting open as she softly panted.

Her suggestion earlier was true, she was always aroused when he was there, and it took very little effort on his part to elicit a response, but touching her was absolutely stunning and he didn't want to stop. He loved watching her lose her resolve and her cool and her poise just for him. And then he also loved the moment when her impatience would take over as it almost always did. She unbuttoned his pants, pushing them and his boxers down his thighs but not removing them. His suit was all still being worn, his jacket over her shoulders, his pants still on but pushed down, his shirt still in place but open. They were dressed as if they were too hurried to undress, but they were calm and paced. She moved closer, the heat from his newly uncovered body welcoming her nearer. His erection was warm and smooth and she stroked and fondled him as lazily as he was touching her. She reached one hand around his shoulder, her wrist delicately bent behind his neck, her other hand still gently pleasuring him.

His hands went to her thighs and he lifted while she wrapped her legs around his waist, both filled with anticipation. He held her up, just barely preventing their bodies from meeting while she twisted her hips in his grasp. Lining up their bodies, he was preparing to savor one of his favorite parts of sex with her: the first moment when they joined. The moment when their bodies first met was always a combination of relief and joy from finally experiencing the sensations they'd been longing for, coupled with the urgent, hopeful, anticipatory feeling for the things that were on the near horizon.

They were awaiting it, the burst of sensation, their bodies becoming accustomed to each other again, the way her fingers would either grab for him or spread open, and then her sigh. It was different, sometimes it was an intake of breath, sometimes it was a sharp gasp with a noise that was all her own, sometimes it was a low, grateful moan, but it was always a beautiful sound because he knew it was the sound of them. He moved, at once bringing her body to him and his body to her, and she gasped loudly, breathing in and holding her breath for a moment before sighing out, simultaneous relief and need. Her arms wrapped around his neck for a moment and she held her body close to him.

Like when they agreed almost two months earlier that they didn't need a condom, that they were committed enough to each other and had enough trust that they didn't require that barrier, things had changed again. There was a barrier that remained between them because of their attempts not to go too far, not to fall too in love, not to accidentally let that thought cross their lips in an unguarded moment. The feelings increased just as dramatically with the dropping of this remaining invisible barrier. She was louder, more free with her demands and compliments because she wasn't trying to suppress all words as a precautionary measure. He was more free to let go, to allow his body and brain to surrender entirely to the moment without fear of the same thing. They were both partially clothed but more entirely naked than they ever had been.

He lost track of his own timing, moving closer to climax and as he felt the moment approaching, he suddenly remembered himself, remembered the devotion to their encounter and to his partner's pleasure. He wasn't being selfish, he was lost in them. He tried to slow and she directed loudly, "Don't fucking slow down, if you do, I swear-"

His answer was wordless, and he thought he would have smiled proudly had he been capable. Right after they finally came, both loudly and completely without filter, he honestly couldn't remember if he'd said anything at all, but when her head came to rest on his shoulder she whispered, "I do love you. I swear I do."

"I like how you are prepared to threaten me…and then love me."

"I know what I want."

"You do know what you want. You also know when, and how…"

"Exactly," she smiled against his neck.

"I do love you too."

One of his hands roamed her back as he tried to take a few steps, realizing that his pants had fallen mostly down, but were still on his body and would likely trip him if he kept them on for much longer. He was unsuccessfully trying to kick them away from his body. When he put her down on her feet, he gathered his jacket from the bottom of the wet tub where it was bunched up, and tossed it on the floor with the rest of his suit.

"Your suit's gonna get ruined," she mentioned.

Ignoring the suit, he dragged her into bed.

* * *

In the morning, before dawn, they woke to make the long drive back home.

"Back to work," she practically whined once she was in the shower and washing. "So what does this mean? What are we going to do?"

"About work?" he asked, pulling her against him to feel her soapy, slippery body against his.

"About everything"

"Umm…we go in, play it cool, bide our time while Larson takes over the hospital. Once she's in charge, we plot a coup, take over, and you take your rightful spot as Supreme Overlady. I remain on as Overlord, your love interest, deliverer of all of your wildest requests, and lead diagnostician."

She looked up, pondering the possibilities, finally shrugging and nodding, "OK."

* * *

_-The End. Thanks for Reading!_


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